


I Knew You were Trouble (when you walked in; so shame on me)

by TheWriterChick



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers AU where Phil is alive, Crazy Stupid Love, Dramaaaa, Drunk-gas, F/M, Friendship, Humour, Let me know when you become 'Facebook Official' so you can fill out the proper forms, Love Triangles, Nerf Wars, No one wants to talk with Phil. Ever., Romance, The Avengers attempt to bond, They aren't used to FEELINGS, Unrequited Love, break-ups
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWriterChick/pseuds/TheWriterChick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crush on Captain America (who she fear is far too good for her), the best archer in the world vying for her affections (and doing a wonderful job at winning her over)... she wishes these were the least of her problems. But just when she thought she had her mind made up, life couldn't stay simple. </p><p>Darcy's not used to being this popular. Seriously, guys, she can't handle it.</p><p>**Title from T-Swift</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This began on Tumblr (originally titled 'Spoils of War: Steve Never Gets the Girl') because there needs to be more love triangles in the Darcy Lewis tag. The chapters will be loosely linked (keyword: loose) and I'm not sure how deep this will go. Either way, enjoy! :-) Tumblr: thewriterchick.tumblr.com

 

_._

_._

_The Assistant_

.

 

.

It was a simple enough day; Coulson had an early-morning meeting, which meant she had to be at work before the birds woke up, which was a pain in the ass, but thankfully there were more than a few Starbucks around Stark Tower that were open 24/7 and could accommodate her early morning caffeine supplement. Otherwise she’d be a zombie all day and that wouldn’t be helping the foreign relations situation.

When she first arrived, she found a very angry Russian at her desk. Sitting on her desk, to be more precise. At first Darcy froze, thinking maybe Natasha—clearly as ferocious as a T-rex—wouldn’t be able to see her if she didn’t move, but when Natasha tersely explained what happened yesterday and handed her paperwork over, Darcy realized the redhead was much more angry at Hawkeye than anyone else. Darcy didn’t bother telling her she had figured that much out; Natasha _always_ handed in Hawkeye’s paperwork with her own. This was the first time since Darcy started working that her papers were just her own.

Hawkeye was in the doghouse then. Funny, but frightening, considering Natasha.

She spends the rest of the morning fielding calls, picking little pieces of lint off her skirt absent-mindedly while feeding herself three cups of coffee to stay awake. Hey, she actually dressed up a bit today, trading out her favorite jeans for a pencil skirt and blouse. There was an afternoon meeting with a few UN ambassadors (due to the same mission that went awry yesterday) that she had to sit in on to take notes, so her jeans just weren’t going to fly this time, and she wanted to keep the ‘looking professional and hot’ trend going.

During long holding times on the phone, she tried not to get herself too psyched about lunch. Not the actual food, or the eating of lunch—but the company she would have. She kept giving her purse side-long glances, remembering a book she had packed for a certain Avenger. An Avenger that most certainly had not yet read the book, even though everyone she knew had been forced to read it for eight-grade English. But, in all fairness to this Avenger, he had been frozen in the North Pole when _To Kill A Mockingbird_ was published. The reason why she couldn’t get too psyched about lunch was...

Well, it hit her the other day that her and Steve Rogers wouldn’t be a right fit.

She was a bit too... harsh. Inappropriate, at the best of times. Before they began spending their lunch breaks together she had simply been fangirling over his brilliant blue eyes and those lips and his gorgeous frame. But she got to know the guy behind the Adonis features, his smarts and his opinions and the things about the modern world he marvelled at and the things he wished wouldn’t exist. The crush she had turned into full-blown love because it became very obvious that he was an amazing human being.

Darcy wasn’t quite suited for Steve.  He needed a woman in power, someone strong and full of brass who didn’t go on rants about how TLC used to be The Learning Channel before it turned into a Reality-TV-Land with horrors like _Toddlers and Tiaras_ and all that crap.

He didn’t need a girl like her. He needed a lady.

And a lady, Darcy was not.

So the focus was telling her crush to get over itself and continue being Steve’s friend. That’s what the super-soldier needed most in this new world: someone he can easily confide in when a reference slips over his head (he certainly can’t ask Tony Stark any questions like that). Someone he can relax with. Someone he doesn’t have to wear the mask for. She’d get the hang of it, but it will take some time.

There was a brief lull when one of the Avengers—her favorite—stopped by her cubicle. She was just finishing up a phone call (again, the UN thing) when she felt his presence before seeing him. With a quick spin she saw Thor, big, blonde and grinning. She smiled back in reply and wrapped up her phone call, before turning to give him her full attention. “And how is my favorite Thunder God this morning?”

“The day is fair; one can’t complain,” Thor replied. He was like this so often, talking like he’s Shakespearian. Sometimes she was sure he could narrate the most boring day in history, and it would sound like poetry. Darcy had considered writing some of his quotes down and selling them to Hallmark.

Not that S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t pay her well; a little extra money would still be nice.

She looked at the papers in his hand and grinned, wiggling her eyebrows at the same time. “Heard you got in trouble yesterday?” She took the documents from him—he was, as usual, one of the first to get his homework handed in, but he didn’t look happy about her teasing.

“I wasn’t trying to aim for the boat.”

“So I hear,” she replied, but eventually cut it out and smiled sympathetically at him. “Don’t worry, big guy—we’re fixing it this afternoon.”

Thor sighed, the weight of the world heavy on his shoulder. Dedication was obviously not something he joked around with. “I am very thankful for the work Son of Coul does for our faction.”

Darcy laughed dryly. “You and everyone else in this building, buddy.”

As she set his work aside, she spun back to find Thor eyeing the pile of reports that his own had joined. Before she could ask, he spoke, “Not everyone has done their work, have they?”

Darcy huffed comically, running her thumb through the pile of papers like a flipbook. “You and Tasha are first; Steve is usually done by lunch,” she hoped she had said that calmly. “I usually have to hunt down Stark and Bruce in their labs to get theirs, but I give them till the afternoon. Clint is the only straggler.” She looked up at Thor and lowered her voice, hissing in her best gossip tone, “Natasha is _pissed_.”

Thor laughed. “Well, warriors take their victory kills very seriously—Lady Natasha had called hers, but Brother Clint took it.”

Darcy’s eyes widened and her mouth formed an ‘o’ in awe. Oh, shit. She knew not to mess around with Natasha calling ‘dibs.’ That’s a man’s death wish.

But Thor wasn’t playing into her exaggeration, for once. Instead, he looked her dead in the eye. “So you are waiting for Brother Clint?” When she nodded, he simply wrung his hands together, murmured, “Excellent,” and wandered off.

She already had to deal with an Angry Russian, she’s guaranteed to deal with Slacking Stark and Shy Banner this afternoon. She did _not_ have the time or effort to analyze Conniving Thor. So with a sigh she spun back to her computer, and tried to sink back into her work, even when her purse and the book inside seemed to call to her over and over again.

 

 

_._

_._

_The Archer_

.

 

.

 

Things have been looking up for Clint Barton, even in spite of the accidental-blowing-up-of-a-foreign-naval-ship incident yesterday.

The paperwork was the downside (besides the ship thing). Clint _hated_ paperwork with a passion. Paperwork is just grown-up homework; no one wants to do it, but the consequences of skipping out are worse than school, because if he doesn’t complete his homework, he doesn’t get paid.

Either way, he struggled and whined and finished his official statement and was on his way to hand it in to the teach-... to Agent Phil before lunch. He timed it perfectly, so if Phil decided to chew him out (and history has shown Phil _loves_ to chew Clint out) he’d still have time to beat the rush of scientists and office help in the lunch line twenty floors below.

As Clint walked amongst the cubicles on Coulson’s floor, in Stark Tower, he tried remembering the name of Coulson’s assistant. Daisy? Dani? It had been the same girl for a while, but considering he never submitted his own paperwork before, he hadn’t had much time to get acquainted with her. Mentally, he reviewed what he could remember as he neared the cubicle. Dark hair, glasses, baggy sweaters when she didn’t feel like dressing up--

And damn. Boobs.

That fact came barrelling into his review when he reached the cubicle labelled _Darcy Lewis_ and found that same girl, in the slick black skirt and deep red blouse that did nothing to calm her rack. He suddenly remembered his first day in the sixth grade when one of his classmates, a girl, came back from summer vacation with boobs. Every boy in class was starstruck, awe and awkward, all at once, and suddenly he was feeling that allover again. And Hawkeye did _not_ like that feeling.

Thankfully Darcy was the type to not get scary after a little leer; she simply narrowed her eyes and said pointedly, “Eyes up here, Barton.”  While her tone was threatening, her expression was mostly amusement.

Clint cleared his throat and managed to grin. “Sorry,” he lied, and held the papers out.

Darcy’s eyes lit up at the sight of it, which should be strange. Then again, anyone who was assistant to Agent Phil _had_ to love paperwork; Clint was pretty sure his boss got a hard-on from filing systems. But that was another story.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of getting this in person?” Darcy asked, clearly mocking him with her tone. She pulled it from his hands and began reading it over, as if she was used to mistakes.

Suddenly he felt like a kid in school trying to explain a late assignment. See? Adult homework. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, avoiding eye-contact. “Tasha refused to hand it in for me today,” he mumbled.

“Because you took the kill shot that she called dibs on yesterday.”

The archer started at this. Darcy didn’t meet his gaze but she grinned mischievously and wiggled her eyebrows, all while looking over his work. Obviously she was enjoying having the power of knowledge over him. “Natasha handed her debrief in first thing this morning.” All laughter fell from her eyes and she met his gaze, deadpan. “You know what it’s like to have an angry Russian sitting at your desk before you’ve had your morning coffee?”

“... yes, actually.”

That earned him another grin, one that pulled at her deep red lips.

Suddenly he found those much more appealing than the cut of her shirt.

He was brought back from the perplexing thought when she went off on a tangent about how the whole thing will blow over, how Phil had a meeting after lunch with some military officials and some ambassador from somewhere or other. Phil would have to kiss a little ass, and Director Fury would have to call a few favors, but everything should be fine.

“So don’t worry your pretty blonde head, Barton,” she turned back in her chair to set his files with the rest, next to her computer. “The world still ticks.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Damn his mouth.

Thankfully she took the obvious ego-brushing in stride. “I’ve seen prettier. Actually, I take it back—it’s impossible to call any Avenger pretty when Thor is present. And Natasha agrees with me, FYI.”

“Sheesh, throw a guy a bone here.” That’s right—Darcy joined S.H.I.E.L.D. after the whole Puento Antigua incident, the same one he had been involved with. She had been invited onto the force (the administrative force, anyway) when the scientist, Jane Foster, had been asked to stay on as well. She was actually pretty good friends with Thor; that was when Barton saw her most often. She would be joking around with the big guy, his booming voice competing with her full-blown laughter, most of the time.

He would notice them when she laughed. Her laugh always caught his ear, now that he thought about it.

Suddenly he was in no rush to get to lunch, or to leave, really—he glanced around her cubicle. Little knick-knacks were scattered here and there. There was a small cactus beside her monitor, probably an homage to her time in New Mexico. Beside her purse was a book. He read the title.

“ _To Kill A Mockingbird_?”

Instantly her head snapped towards the book, as if she had been thinking about it all day and by leaving it out, she had been hoping someone would ask about it. She managed to keep her cool though and replied, “An American classic.”

“Never read it,” Clint said. “But I saw the movie. I don’t usually like old movies, but Gregory Peck did me in.”

He was rewarded with her eyes lighting up. “I know, right?!”

And suddenly she went on this... well, rant is probably the wrong word, but she was passionate and enthusiastic about the book, and the movie. It was refreshing for someone her age. Sometimes he saw S.H.I.E.L.D. interns, or sometimes there were college kids at the coffee shops, who would sit around and pretentiously speak about how _pedestrian_ something was. All he wanted to do to those kids was send an arrow through their eye-sockets. But Darcy? Darcy was genuinely excited about some things. It was nice.

While she spoke Darcy’s eyes shifted. Just a fraction of a second, but he still caught the movement. A subtle shift to the right—his right—and the almost imperceptible quirk of her lips. Something behind him was very amusing.

He only had the chance to tilt his head out of the way as something whizzed by and stuck to Darcy’s computer monitor.

The archer and the assistant stared at the green foam dart in silence, but only for a split second.

“Did you plan that?”

Darcy started, wrinkling her nose. “What?”

Her confusion wasn’t what he focused on first—all the watching, everything he had just reminded himself of, it all _clicked_ now. Slowly, calculating, he nodded, suddenly understanding. “You’re on _their_ side. Of course.”

Darcy blinked repeatedly. “What are you _talking_ about?”

Clint let out a barking laugh. “Ha! Thor’s your pal, of course you’re going to help him win. Well, we’ll see about that.”

“Wha—Barton—AH!”

And suddenly she was a Prisoner of War in the biggest Nerf battle the tower had ever seen.

 

 

 

_._

_._

_The Soldier_

.

 

.

 

Suddenly all the waiting and pacing seems like a horrible idea and he’s beating himself up for taking too long.

It's a simple enough day; there were no early-morning missions which meant no running around or skipping lunch, which Steve was happy about. The paperwork in his hands had to be taken to Agent Coulson's assistant before lunch, which he was also happy about, because the chance of walking with said assistant down to lunch had improved. Meaning he'd spend a bit more time watching her play with her hair, chew on her deep red lipstick, maybe get a smile or a giggle. If he was lucky, that is; maybe she was going out to buy lunch today. If so, he wouldn't stop her. He enjoyed their lunchtime together but they’ve only been talking for the last two weeks; he didn't have the right to monopolize her time (nor would Darcy Lewis stand for such a thing). This plan of walking her to lunch was a very small scheme and if it failed, he tried to convince himself that he wouldn't have his heart broken... but for how high his hopes were, he was starting to doubt that.

With ten minutes to lunch he left the elevator, stepping out onto the S.H.I.E.L.D. administration floor at Stark Tower, perfectly filled-out paperwork in hand and he followed the memorized path through the cubicles. It's an easy walk, one that got him to Darcy's desk without walking past Coulson's office. Not that he didn't like Coulson; he just didn't want his chances ruined by his supervisor calling him in for a chat.

Only when Steve turned into Darcy's cubicle, there was only an empty chair. He paused, biting his lower lip in thought. Maybe she ran to the photo-copier. Either way, he ignored the small part of him that suggested he just leave the file on her desk and be on his way--because there was a good chance she left for lunch already, dipping out as a small defiance to her boss (hey, she took any break for rebellion that she could get) and leaned against her cubicle to wait.

His eyes trailed over her desk like it had before. Nothing out of place. Except for a Nerf dart, bright green, stuck to her computer monitor.

When lunchtime came he ended up feeling worse than if he had just brushed it off. And he continued to brush it off, that niggling feeling of doubt and disappointment that followed him around, and insisted that she hadn't known he was coming, so there was nothing to be done. The situation of his ever-growing attraction of Darcy Lewis is no better or worse than it had been when they parted ways yesterday after lunch was over. Things were fine; stop worrying.

But as he approached the elevators he heard the laugh, and this time it was much stronger than any Darcy had emitted before. This was a constant, full from her belly, having-trouble-breathing laugh, and it became louder and louder. She kept insisting someone let her go, but it was broken with the constant giggling. Steve had a feeling she wasn't in imminent danger. But he might be.

Through the elevator foyer Clint stalked into view, holding one of those garish, neon-colored Nerf machine-guns at the ready, pumping the release to build up pressure. He had the shit-eating grin on his face that Steve accepted as Happy Clint, even though this Nerf war he had been in with Black Widow and Thor for the last two weeks was starting to annoy pretty much everyone else in the damn building. Well, everyone but the executive assistant looped in the archer’s arms, doubling over with laughter.

Darcy continued to playfully slap at the steel grip around her waist as Clint dragged her around--literally dragged when her feet slipped here and there, but his grip was so solid that she didn't slip an inch--and the archer was completely impassive of her struggles, which only made her giggle harder.

But when she caught sight of Steve, she opened her tearing-eyes wide and held out her hand, feigning desperation. "Steve! Steve, help!"

Before he could respond Clint spoke over her. "Don't you dare, Cap-- she's a prisoner of war now. Caught her helping Thor out and I am _not_ losing this round." The way he growled in the end only made Darcy laugh harder, and, to her delight, the grip around her waist tightened in response and he growled again, "C'mon, you."

As if forgetting they interacted with him at all, Steve watched him stalk down the hallway, giggling prisoner in tow. The archer paused at a corner leading off to Accounting before storming it and firing rapidly down the hall; Darcy screeched in 'terror' as she covered her ears to the gunfire and was dragged out of sight. Apparently she was enjoying being the spoils of war.

The worst was that the captain knew Clint certainly did enjoy the spoils of war. Why would he not take the time to enjoy Darcy's company? After this round was over there was no doubt that Clint wouldn't pass the chance to ask her on a date, or at the very least continue to flirt with her, make her blush, make her grin, bite her bottom lip. Steve doesn't know why he didn't make the connection before, but Darcy's inappropriate, lewd quips were very similar to Clint's; they could probably carry on a whole conversation based on "that's what she said" and neither would be irked by it.

Suddenly all the waiting and pacing seems like a horrible idea and he’s beating himself up for taking too long to ask her on a proper date.

 

 

_._

_._

_...Maybe_

_._

_._

The rain had stopped when Steve decided to hop out of the tower for a walk. He had to remind himself to not get so cooped up in that building, but it was hard; his apartment was inside, the training gym, all of the S.H.I.E.L.D. resources he would ever need, were in that building. All of New York was outside his door; he just had to remind himself to go see it. And especially after the day he’s had, he needed fresh hair to clear his thoughts.

The sky was still cloudy, so he was glad he had grabbed his jacket. He zipped it up, about to make the trek to the park for a while—

“Steve!”

Darcy ran across the slick pavement, a move he wished she wouldn’t do, especially when she was in heels today, but managed to get to him in one piece. She was smiling, and holding something. For a moment he was caught in her expression, breathless, happy, her hair blown back—

“I meant to give you this at lunch,” she interrupted his thoughts, holding out her hands to him. The book she had mentioned yesterday, _To Kill A Mockingbird_. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

This was the first time she had gone to the trouble to give him something. He smiled and gripped the book, looking over the cover. “Thanks,” he said.

“And thank you for leaving your paperwork,” she said. “I already have to chase Stark down for his stuff, and I know I was stuck running around during lunch—“ she rolled her eyes like it was a big annoyance, and her reaction to it lifted his spirits a bit. Obviously the whole thing had been an annoyance to her. Maybe he hadn’t lost his chance—

Until he heard an all-familiar whistle.

Both turned towards the doors of the Tower. Steve’s spirits froze where they were. Barton was there, looking at the pair, grinning and waiting with his hands in his pockets.

“Oh,” Darcy faltered, her voice catching. “I have to go—Clint’s taking me for dinner.” A blush crept on her cheeks. “To apologize for using me as a human shield once or twice today.”

Steve frowned at this, sending his best un-amused glare to Barton, as if to say ‘really?’ in his deadpan/disappointed voice. And Clint, used to being a disappointment, shrugged without any real sign of apology. This was only a distraction though; what was Steve supposed to say to Darcy? Have fun? He didn’t want her going with Clint to a restaurant. Not when she’s happy and glowing like this. He wanted this.

Well, he waited a bit too long for that luxury, didn’t he?

When he realized he hadn’t said anything, he looked back to Darcy, knowing he probably wasn’t hiding his emotions very well. Then again, she looked a little uncomfortable herself. She bit her bottom lip, still red from her lipstick choice of the day, and she could barely look at his eyes. If he didn’t know any better, she looked reluctant to go.

Yeah, he wished.

“Have fun,” he eventually said, defeated.

A small smile graced her lips. “Thanks.” She pushed the book closer to him. “Enjoy. We’ll talk about it at lunch, okay?”

With forced smiles and awkward glances back over their shoulders, the soldier and the assistant went their separate ways. Steve kept the book tucked under his arm, while Clint threaded Darcy’s through his, insisting he would try to keep her warm.

And the date was nice, and Steve finished the book in one night, and Clint didn’t force a kiss but Darcy allowed the press of his lips to her cheek, thinking how funny and charming and wonderfully inappropriate Clint was for her, and maybe this was a better fit for everyone.

Maybe.


	2. Enchanted (To Meet You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please don't be in love with someone else,  
> Please don't have somebody waiting on you

A lunch tray slammed onto the table, right across from him. Steve jumped; he doesn’t like being surprised. He doesn’t like being snuck up on, period. Army instincts and such—people should respect them, especially when someone was drawing. Now his pencil had skidded across his paper, effectively ruining his sketch of the atrium-like ceiling of the cafeteria, but before he can glare, he notices that a girl—a woman, pardon—was standing in front of him, sucking back on a soda from the lunch line.

Steve drops his pencil to the table.

Darcy popped the straw from her mouth before staring him down. “A little bird told me _The Wizard of Oz_ was your favorite movie.”

This was the first time at Stark Tower that anyone who wasn’t military addressed him, and he had been living in Stark’s ‘avenger tower’ for two months. And of all the topics... Steve hadn’t been expecting that. “Sorry?”

“Oh, don’t be,” Darcy took his response as affirmation that, yes, she could join him for lunch, so she sat down. She had the same meal he did: soup and sandwich, only he was drinking water instead of a Big Gulp. “Folks these days forget that we wouldn’t have Michael Bay movies if we didn’t have early cinema classics.” Once she’s settled, a very sweet smile crosses her face. “My favorite was the Scarecrow. Who was yours?”

Steve blinks a few times. He recognizes this girl; she’s from Agent Coulson’s office... right, she was his new assistant. She started a month or so ago, when they had hired that doctor that Thor hangs out with.

After a second of floundering, he managed to answer her question. “Um,... Tin Man. Toto’s a close second.”

This earned him a tilt of her head, her brown hair sliding a bit past her shoulder, draping over her red sweater. It looked too large for her, but she appeared more comfortable than anyone else in the building, and he was mildly jealous of it. Rather than let her ask the question, he shrugged and quirked his mouth, a tad embarrassed, but elaborated. “I’m allergic to dogs—always wanted one.”

Of course, if he had revealed any of his ailments of his past, most of the time he was met with frowns, confusion, and a quick once-over of his serum-built body. How the hell could someone so biochemically produced be allergic to dogs? And then he would have to remind them that he wasn’t always like this, so ‘perfect’ and ‘plastic’ in their eyes, and he actually had a lot of things wrong with him before the _big change_. It was frightening how many forgot that, helmet or muscles or not, there was a human being in this vessel, vulnerable and not full of hardwiring.

But not Darcy. Not a hint of speculation crossed her eyes. She simply hummed, as if it all made sense anyway, and picked up her sandwich (turkey on rye).

“Rumour has it that Stark has a state-of-the-art, private movie theatre in this building.” She met his gaze straight on, challenge burning in her eyes. “I’m determined to find it before Thanksgiving. And to watch every Judy Garland flick by Christmas.”

Steve knew exactly what she was talking about. And he knew exactly where it was.

Alright, let’s face it, Steve didn’t know how to talk to women. The amount of evidence pointing to this mostly involved his experiences with Peggy, but it was blatantly obvious. Even in the present he wasn’t much better. Agent Maria Hill and Natasha Romanov were easier to converse with because... not that they didn’t come across as feminine, but he never felt that awkward barrier between them. When they spoke it was with ease; he felt on the same level as them.

He had a feeling he could be like that with this Darcy gal. She was as casual as they came in Stark Tower. The other women wore their power suits and their frighteningly-high heels; Darcy was laid-back with her worn jeans and baggy sweaters. Too many assumed that Steve had a thing for gals in uniform, just because of the line of work he was in, but it was quite the opposite. Any time he had admired a girl, it was usually based on how easily he could picture lazing around with her on a Sunday afternoon. And the idea of watching a movie with Darcy fit that picture, quite perfectly.

That and he couldn’t seem to take her eyes off her lips.

And maybe, after so many years of being too shy, he’d try to be a bit more daring. What is it that the kids say? You only live once?

With a mild grin, he leaned across the table—and even though she had a mouth full of turkey in her mouth, she sensed the secrecy and leaned closer, too—and said in a hushed voice, “Ma’am, I can help you find the theatre before _dinner_.”

The grin that spread across her face was the brightest thing he’d seen in weeks

And that was when Steve knew he was a goner.

_._

_._

_._

_Please don't be in love with someone else_

_Please don't have somebody waiting on you_

_._

_._

_._

“You don’t like pickles?”

Darcy’s nose wrinkled, her face completely sour. “You _do_?”

Steve couldn’t help laughing at that, shaking his head. “They were cheap during the Depression; easy to make, even.” Without even asking for her permission, he reached across the lunch table and picked up the small pile of sliced pickles she had set aside from her sandwich. It wasn’t like she was going to eat them.

Darcy rolled her eyes, sighing dramatically. “Oh, sure, make me feel spoiled and guilty over being a picky eater, why don’tcha.”

Of course there was a teasing smile there, so he knows she’s really not feeling bad and he shouldn’t feel too guilty, anyway. It took him a while to get a hang of not apologizing for every single thing he said or did, because he apparently that was all he could do around Darcy, and she had beating that out of him from the beginning. One time she told him to stop being so Canadian.

Now that he thought about it, she was eating a turkey sandwich today, too, just like at their first lunch.

“Can’t you just tell the kitchen to hold the pickles?”

She shrugged, lifting her now-perfect sandwich up to her mouth. “But then you wouldn’t get your pickle fix.” Darcy smiled quick before taking a bite.

She ate quietly, and Steve managed to finish off the lasagne special. Comfortable silence, as usual, but his mind was spinning. Like a movie reel, he remembered catching Natasha watching a television show about a group of friends living in New York. There was a couple on the show, engaged, and they had the ‘olive theory’: the guy hated olives, and the girl loved them, so their relationship was successful because of his excess of olives when they ate out and the girl’s demand of them. By the end of the episode, the crowd found out that the guy actually liked olives, too; he simply wanted to give them to his fiancé to make her happy.

Not sure why that popped into his head, but it was all he could think about in the silence.

Darcy’s eyes lit up momentarily, suddenly recalling something. Once she swallowed, she asked, “How’d you like it? The book.”

Oh, damn it. Steve hadn’t even touched the thing; it was still sitting on his coffee table where he left it, after he trudged into his apartment, and fell onto his couch, and damned his serum-infused body for refusing him the right to get piss drunk when he was upset. He had completely forgotten about it. So what to tell her?

“It was good,” he replied, quickly, maybe too quickly. “Interesting. How was your night?”

Damn it again, why did he ask? He didn’t want to know.

He was too mad at himself to notice the tug on her lip as she chewed momentarily, or that her eyes pulled away from his gaze. “Fine,” she replied, suddenly making a show of how relaxed she was by sinking back in her seat. “We just went to the diner down the road.”

Steve knew what she was talking about. It was a little hole in the wall with the greasiest fries in New York, but it was a favorite amongst the Avengers. They could never go all at once, that’s for sure, but usually they’d sneak off in pairs, disappear into the back booth and eat the nasty food. Like a bunch of junkies that needed their fix after a particularly bad mission. Better deep fried nachos than drugs, right?

Neither of them touched their food. The silence, while drowned out by the surrounding tables and their voices bouncing off the walls of the cafeteria, was obvious to the soldier and the assistant. It was defeaning to them.

It didn’t have to be mentioned but it was understood that this was a crossroads. How were they going to be after this point? They couldn’t sneak away to break into Tony’s theatre anymore, if Steve conceded. They would still be able to have lunch, if Darcy could keep her cool. They wouldn’t be able to daydream about each other because it wouldn’t be fair.

It could’ve been fair. If they had both gotten their acts together and made a move, instead of revelling in the comfort they found so easily with each other.

“If he ever makes you cry—teammate or not, promise you’ll tell me?”

Darcy met his gaze with a start. His face wasn’t stern but his tone was as serious as he’s ever been with her. It wasn’t until he spoke that Darcy had realized how much she was wishing he would jump in, make a move, do _something_ to let her know she had a chance with him still. She thought that she had made her decision yesterday that she was over her crush on Steve Rogers, that they weren’t a good fit, that it never would have worked out, but apparently not.

And now, with his... blessing, of sorts, she really would have to put her daydreams to rest.

It was hard for her to nod back, hard to keep a straight face as he went back to his notebook, when every nerve was begging to ask back, _Who am I supposed to tell when_ you _make me cry?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not at all expecting the response that I got with this story! Holy crap! Flattered like crazy over here... and also worried that I may have broken some of you :-S I'm sorry!!
> 
> This was so just supposed to be a one-shot, but since the whole broken-fan thing (and I'm not going to lie, some of the sobbing comments have made me giggle a bit. I'm evil, apparently) I'm going to extend this into at least 6 chapters. Someone suggested a "CREATE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE" piece, which made me laugh so hard because I totally had those books as a kid and I loved them to death, but I want this to have a real decision by the end.... but maybe you can help decide that. Go to my tumblr (thewriterchick.tumblr.com) and in my Ask (which you can do anonymously, you don't have to be on Tumblr to do it!) tell me who you want, Steve or Clint. 
> 
> This is going to get ugly, I can tell already @.@
> 
> So this was a piece of Darcy/Steve fluff, explaining their first lunch ever, and the first one after the DATE. 
> 
> Next chapter will be more Clint focused, on him slowly falling for Darcy and not realizing it until he's too far gone (which makes him scared as hell).


	3. The Blue Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A random scene and the introduction to the "Blue Room Group" that no one wants to be in. It just takes a while for Darcy to realize that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha’s Two Cents
> 
>  
> 
> Natasha liked to be an observer, and not in the way that Clint is. Clint enjoys watching not just people’s actions, but the reactions they have when he recalled their actions back to them. Natasha is simply a collector of information, not a broadcaster.
> 
> It may be early morning, but the training room was kept dark, with little light streaming through the blinds over the windows. That was how the Leather Twins liked it; the shadows can play tricks on your mind, make you question your instincts and sharpen your senses.
> 
> Obviously Clint’s instincts were off, or Natasha was cheating to get revenge for the whole kill-shot thing the other day.
> 
> By the time he had been thrown to his back the eighth time, he knew it was the latter. And frankly, he figured he had suffered enough. Having the wind knocked out of him eight times was fair trade for dibs on a kill-shot, right? It had to be. So, rather than get up, he lay where he fell, catching his breath and conceding for the day. Natasha knew he had given his all in training, and definitely had not let her win because he felt guilty or some pathetic sexist crap like that. Just, instead of keeping their training up, he was done. He gave. White flag up and everything.
> 
> Natasha stood above him, yoga-pants hugging her toned legs perfectly as she rested her foot on either side of his torso. He simply stared up at her. Slowly she crouched down until she could easily sit on him, but she didn’t, and folded her arms ontop of her knees.
> 
> “So,” she started plainly. “You and Darcy.”
> 
> Clint frowned instantly, wondering how the hell she knew so quickly, but he met her gaze. “What about me and Darcy?”
> 
> “You went on a date.”
> 
> “... Indeed.”
> 
> The reality was that Natasha was only a few feet away, post-Nerf battle, when Clint had managed to ask Darcy out. She had heard the flirting, and Miss Lewis’ agreement to the date—Natasha was an observer. Of course she knew.
> 
> What disturbs Clint most is that Natasha has never questioned any of his dates in the past. Just as he’s never questioned hers. Their friendship stayed sane this way.
> 
> The Russian’s expression was still unreadable; now it was time to play the guessing game of ‘What is Natasha getting at,’ but before he can even venture a guess, she fills him in, and it’s completely unexpected. “She’s friends with Steve.”
> 
> His mouth opened, closed, opened again but paused, giving her a sidelong glance. “... okay?”
> 
> “Every day for the last two weeks, Darcy and Steve have had lunch together in the cafeteria.” Now her expression starts to become something else; her eyes narrow the tiniest bit. She’s about to accuse him of something. “Except for yesterday. Because you were too busy dragging her around the Tower.”
> 
> How would he know that? He never eats in the cafeteria; he grabs his food and runs off. Otherwise, he would have noticed. Nonetheless, he didn’t know that Steve and Darcy were so close. Well, sure, he saw them talking yesterday before their date, but Darcy always talks to the Avengers. He hadn’t given it a second thought before now.
> 
> “What are you saying, Tasha?”
> 
> Natasha leaned over him, getting right in his face, her eyes wearing the harsh expression of a woman demanding to be taken seriously. And my god, did he pay attention, meeting her stare dead-on.
> 
> “I’m saying that for the first time in months, the Captain doesn’t walk around looking lost. He has a friend now. Keep that in mind before you start monopolizing Darcy’s time.”
> 
> She stood up swiftly, walking over his perplexed face and towards the door. He barely had enough time to roll over and remind her, “We went on one freaking date, Tash!”
> 
>  
> 
> ... and this has been Natasha’s Two Cents

.

Darcy and Clint weren’t going slow, per se, but it was slower than most of her previous relationships. Unfortunately a lot of those previous relationships only lasted a day, or, *ahem* a night.Her longest was a month—this guy from her statistics class. So maybe the slowness was a good thing. Maybe this is how normal people get together.

Not that her and Clint were normal. Maybe that’s why she felt so scared.

But at the end of their dates, it was getting harder and harder to resist pulling him into her apartment and stripping him bare. The question of the matter: was that because she hadn’t gotten ‘lucky’ is far too long (and his kisses weakened her resolve) or because she really, really liked Clint?

After each of their four dates, Clint had taken Darcy back to her apartment and saw her to her door like a good boy. The first night he gave her a peck on the cheek. The second (their first real kiss) happened when she fiddled with her keys, hinting that she didn’t want to go inside so soon. He didn’t need to be told twice and wrapped his arms—those strong, deadly arms—around her frame, holding her delicately, like he was scared to break her. Combine that with a very soft and sweet kiss, well, her legs turned to jelly. Their third date was much the same ending, with a little more tasting of each other.

For the fourth and most recent date, Darcy had leaned back against the apartment door and stared up at him through her eyelashes. Yes, her Women’s Rights and Feminism professor would be pissed off that dominance turned her on sometimes, but she could care less when Clint grinned at her, crowded her into the door and captured her mouth, licking his way inside. Darcy had gripped his shirt and her other hand grasped for something, anything, and anything was, unfortunately, her apartment doorknob... which caved in behind her when Clint nibbled her bottom lip and she clenched real hard. The falling had given them a good laugh, but really, she wanted to take his mouth and that gorgeous ass to her couch so they could make out for hours like teenagers.

What was she so scared for? It was obvious that Clint liked her, and he was falling more in ‘like’ with her every day. Sometimes he would kiss her forehead before heading off to a meeting, and the moment would be slightly ruined by the watching Natasha, who always seemed surprised when Clint made these little displays of affection. But it was always a pleasant surprise; the Widow was proud of him, apparently. And then there were times when they’d pass in a hallway, and the grin he gave her made her wonder if he had been staking her out just so he could see her.

So what was Darcy so scared about?

Well, she was scared because of days like today, that’s why.

.

.

.

.

Darcy was half-way through a game of Solitaire on her computer when a siren—low but alarming—started to sound off. It made her jump, stand up and peek over her cubicle walls like a spooked meerkat. All the overhead lights shut off, but the track lighting in the floor became brighter. When she looked back to her computer, the solitaire was gone, replaced with flashing orange and the words ‘CODE 31.’

Whoa. Whoa, whoa, _whoa._

Just as she was gearing up for a panic attack (and cursing herself for not fully reading the Codes and Warnings manual all the way through because _what the hell was a Code 31_ ), Agent Phil dipped out of his office, all business. “Please follow me, Miss Lewis.”

“What’s happening?”

“Situation in lower Manhattan,” Phil said with surprising calm.

While everyone else from their floor took the elevator, Phil swiped his card through the reader of the elevators, which were always locked-down during any ‘Code’ situation, and pulled Darcy on. As they rode down, down, _way_ down below Stark Tower, Darcy couldn’t still her shaking hands. They needed to do something, anything, or the shaking would spread throughout her whole nerve system, but there was nothing to hold onto but the strap of her bag slung across her body. It wasn’t satisfying.

“Is it close-by?” She knew better than to ask for specifics like who or what, but she thinks she deserves to know if they’re about to get their asses blown sky-high.

Phil takes a moment to meet her gaze with the same eerie calm expression, as usual. “The number coinciding with a Code Orange indicates the street the situation is on, Miss Lewis. In the case of a Code Red, the situation is happening in a one-block radius of the tower.” While informative, there was the tiniest pinch of annoyance in his eyes. He so totally knew she hadn’t read the manual.

Crap, okay, so the tower is on 40th Street, and if it’s a Code 31... well, there’s at least nine blocks between her and whatever was happening. Not a bad buffer, but she’d prefer if it was wider. Like 20th street. Or, you know, Ohio.

The elevator doors opened to what felt like a bunker: cement walls, windowless hallways, but plenty of light from laps drilled into the ceiling. They had to be in the basement. The sirens were louder down here and there were more tactical S.H.I.E.L.D. agents running around than she had ever seen on the above-ground levels.

Phil led her through the hallways until they reached an opening—two armed guards stood on either side of the opening. There was a heavy metal door that looked like it only Thor could slide into place, but for now, it remained open. The room was sparse, except for three dark leather couches sitting on a plush, deep blue carpet. There was a coffee table with magazines. In the corner was a water cooler, a coffee machine and a mini-fridge.

“Don’t leave until someone you know comes to get you,” Phil informs her. “The others will be down soon.”

And suddenly he was gone and Darcy was wondering what the hell she was doing in something attempting to be the _Friends_ coffee house in the middle of a secret government bunker.

A minute later, Jane was escorted through the door. Darcy hadn’t been expecting her, but Jane seemed more happy to see her old intern than anything else. Her eyes squeezed shut from tears threatening to spill, so Darcy just opened her arms so Jane could collapse on her on the couch mid-hug. And then it hit Darcy. Of course Jane was nervous: Thor was out there, fighting who knows what. And yeah, he’s a God, but he’s died before her eyes once before and that can’t be a pleasant memory.

Pepper Potts walked in at that moment—also escorted—in a pristine, cream-coloured suit. The man Darcy recognized as Happy Hogan, Tony’s driver, was behind her. He beelined for the coffee machine in the corner, prepping himself the largest cup possible.

Unlike Darcy and Jane, not a hair was out of place on Pepper’s head, nor her nerves fried. Instead she greeted them with a smile. “Ladies,” she said politely, as this was an everyday occurrence, as common and annoying as Tony’s snarking. She sat opposite them, crossed her legs and began working on her iPad.

_Wait a second._

“... Am I in the Superhero Girlfriend Waiting Room, or something?” Darcy asked much more loudly than intended.

Pepper pulled her eyes from her tablet, surprised, and amused by the wording. Happy paused and glared at the assistant.

Jane frowned, pulling back from Darcy’s hold to stare at her. “What? No!” she shook her head. “Of course not—Erik’s going to be here soon—and Hap--,” But she suddenly caught wind of something. Her eyes narrowed and she looked her up and down. “Are you dating someone?”

Darcy wished she didn’t blush so easily sometimes. She scoffed, rolled her eyes, tried as hard as she could to brush it off but she did a horrible job. “Psht, _no,_ no way, that’s not—“

She had _not_ been planning on telling Jane, or anyone, yet. There’s some merit to the phrase ‘don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched’ even if it _is_ corny as hell.

While she was falling apart under her lie, Pepper Potts of all people came to her rescue. She leaned forward in her seat, clearing her throat gently so as to get Darcy’s attention, and let her calm sweep over them. “Tony suggested to Phil that you be part of the Blue Room group.” She gestured around them that this was, indeed, the Blue Room. Named after just the carpet, apparently. “You’re important to a member of the team, which means during any kind of Code, you come down here to stay safe.”

That... surprised her. Actually, scratch that. Tony’s involvement in any aspect of her life that wasn’t strictly professional unnerved her. Darcy’s brows furrowed. “Um.“

Now a grin pulled at Pepper’s face, but it wasn’t condescending. More like she was confused by Darcy's confusion. “The obvious reason would be the fact that you and Thor are best buds?” she suggested.

_JFC, Darcy, of course that’s all it is._

“—and he’s noticed that you and Steve have become close.”

... Wait, what?

Before she could overthink what Tony thought of her and Steve's relationship--something she was trying really hard to _not_ do lately, considering she told herself she would get over her crush and that was that, and yes, dating another guy while getting over someone else is seriously the dumbest thing you can do to your heart and your brain--Jane was still shaking her head, holding up a finger to Pepper stop her.

“No, no, that’s not it,” she insisted, getting back to the earlier allegation, which caught Pepper’s attention again. The accusing finger started pointing at Darcy, just as a sly grin moved to Jane’s lips. “You’re dating someone. Who is it?”

Well, crap on a cracker. Once Jane had a theory, there was no stopping her. Just like the time Darcy had been caught Googling pictures of a certain Irish actor’s ass (and then some) from a certain dirty movie called _Shame._ Even after deleting her browsing history, Jane had found out. And that’s why Darcy can’t keep secrets from Jane. Because _Jane needs to know everything._

Still, Darcy had the right to be mad about her trying to nose into her life. “I’ve gone on a few dates with Clint, okay?” she mumbled, leaning back into the cushy couch and avoiding her gaze. “That’s all.”

The speed of which both Jane and Pepper’s eyebrows flew up could beat a world record, if it existed.

“Agent _Barton?_ ” Pepper asked.

“The guy who slept with half the girls in Puente Antiguo?” Jane elaborated. Jane was a little more disgusted than surprised.

 _Yeesh, judgemental much?_ “Okay, I know he’s a weird choice, but we’ve been on four dates. Count ‘em,” she held her fingers up. “ _FOUR._ No sex, no sleepovers, that’s it. Not that it’s your business anyway.”

The CEO put her iPad aside and leaned forward, practically on the edge of her seat. Pepper found Darcy’s love life more interesting than stocks. Nerve-wracking just hit a whole new level. “So you’re taking things slow.”

It was hard to play apathetic when these two were giving her an anxiety attack with all the questions, questions Darcy hadn’t thought of yet. “I don’t know what we’re doing!” Darcy retorted, her hands flying in the air. “I seriously haven’t given it as much thought as you two are! Can’t I just date a guy without the government labelling us and, and, and putting me in the Blue Safety Zone where they keep all the spouses?!”

There was a loud cough in the corner where Happy was, but no one looked his way.

Jane frowned. “Do you not _want_ to be with him?”

Darcy picked up the nearby pillow and buried her face in it. Very maturely. She just wanted the conversation to be over with.

“Are you scared?” Pepper asked.

Feeling a tad insulted, Darcy pulled her head back up enough to pout at Pepper. “I’ve been in a relationship before.”

The hands Pepper had kept in her lap clenched slowly. Hardly noticeable, but the cracking of her mask was disturbing.  “Dating a man is different from dating an Avenger, Darcy.” Her entire tone had changed suddenly, commanding the attention of the room even though it was quieter than before. “You need to be there for them when they need it most. You need to take the good and the bad... and sometimes there is a lot of bad to be had, Darcy.”

The conversation never went further from there since Erik Selvig arrived. Happy, who the women had completely forgotten about during their relationship counselling session, got full-swing into a sports conversation with the man to battle the heavy estrogen that had filled the space. Pepper went back to her iPad and Jane grabbed a magazine, doodling through the article’s inconsistencies and filling all the crosswords in. They all settled down, not knowing how long the situation would last, but their experience has them keeping themselves busy in any way they knew how, or else they would go crazy.

All Darcy had to think about was how right they all were, in a way she hadn’t considered. Dating Clint wasn’t just about the fears of opening yourself up to a complete stranger. It was also the fear of what they could open you up to.

What if she didn’t want to know all the bad Clint had done? What if she couldn’t handle it? What if she didn’t deserve to be in the Blue Room?

_Do you not want to be with him?_

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_To Be Continued.... seriously, the next chapter will be up in like, 20 minutes.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a filler, and I apologize for that. But the chapter was FAR too long the way it was, and I think this gives for a good break. 
> 
> Honestly, the next chapter, with Clint/Darcy fluff, will be up before I go to sleep tonight.


	4. The sun is going down

It was obvious that while it was probably the safest place in New York City—because a happy Avenger is one that still has his BFF or significant other still alive when they come back from saving the world, and the government was totally going to see to that—it was a small room with no windows and no clocks and Jane had doodled in all the magazines and Pepper eventually ran out of work to do, as the wireless signal down there wasn’t so hot, and was tapping her foot against the coffee table and Erik and Happy seemed to have entertained themselves as long as possible and were fucking _thumb wrestling now_ and _Darcy just wanted to scream._

The Blue Room sucked. Hard.

So when the group inside heard very angry, but familiar, Russian coming from down the hall, Darcy was actually hopeful that their time may be up.

A few moments later Tony, out of his armour, back in his AC/DC shirt and dirty jeans and looking a bit banged up, but alive, rounded the corner. As usual, he was grinning, but it didn’t have the same edge of charm. Something was sad about it.

“So that was fun,” he lied spectacularly.

Pepper was, obviously, the first to get up. Darcy couldn’t help appreciating the tenderness Tony expressed with her, from the exchange of a warm smile, how tightly he held her when they hugged, to the kiss they shared when they pulled apart. The simple interaction seemed to recharge the billionaire a bit; some of the charm had returned and his eyes were brighter.

So Tony needs Pepper most after a mission, like she’s his reason for doing all of this.

The bubble of romantic gobbledegook was ruined when Happy came up and fist-bumped his boss. Tony turned to the rest. “C’mon, folks, you’re all free to go.”

Most were ready to get back to their lives, and Jane took off like a shot. Where to? Who knew. Darcy may have been the last to leave but Tony and Pepper had lingered at the door while she was gathering her bag. He met her at the door with a knowing smile. “So, Blue Room sucks, right?”

Instead of a snide remark, Darcy pouted. “Why did you tell Phil I should be here?”

Tony blinked a few times, as if the answer was obvious. “Because the Cap hasn’t been looking like a lost puppy for a month and it’s fucking fantastic. If I had my way, you’d be a Bubble Boy for the rest of his time on the team.”

Darcy flushed at the back-handed compliment, happy that Steve was happy (and great, now she was worried about him and wherever the hell he was and what _he_ needed most post-mission, because she totally needed to be fretting over two Avengers at the same time) but frowned at Tony’s extremes. “That’d be a Bubble Girl.”

“The ‘boy’ part makes the reference easier to make.” Finally he stepped aside, letting her walk first. He fell into step with Pepper at his side, wrapping an arm around her waist. Now Darcy realized he had waited for the assistant because she probably couldn’t find her way out, since this was her first time here.

_“Oхуеть!!!”_

She could just always follow her ears to the swearing Russian.

Three doors down from the Blue Room was a medical ward. Natasha was on a stretcher with her pant leg ripped open to the knee, as doctors were cleaning up a nasty-looking wound on her calve. The sight of it almost sent Darcy heaving into the nearest garbage can, but she managed to hold it back. The Black Widow’s colourful cursing in her native tongue was, thankfully, distracting. Phil was hovering to her side, watching her while keeping his ear glued to a communicator at his side, waiting for word on the Hulk.

“She’s fine,” Tony insisted. “She’ll live to creep us out in a dark hallway once again.”

Yikes, if looks could kill, the stare Natasha was fixing on Tony would’ve blown that arc reactor in his chest to bits.

Pepper stepped up to Natasha while she was stitched up, talking to her and distracting her while the doctor’s worked. Pepper and Natasha always seemed to get along quite well—maybe it was their mutual bond of having to deal with crazy Tony all the time—and Pepper’s guidance helped Natasha swear a whole lot less. Their talking actually allowed a very vague debrief of what happened. A man suspected of kidnapping at least a dozen people in the past two weeks turned out to be part of HYDRA and wanted to use his victims in some kind of bio-terrorist-scary-ass-shit evil plot. Without having to ask, and after a very somber knowing look passed between Tony and Natasha, Natasha simply mentioned that the suspect was ‘taken care of.’

Whatever _that_ implied. And Darcy sure as hell wasn’t asking.

Phil got the call that Thor and Steve had found the Hulk—well, they found Bruce—and were on their way back. There were no injuries, thankfully, and would be home soon.

“Miss Lewis,” Phil started, turning his communicator off. “Everyone’s reports will be in before lunch tomorrow. You don’t have to process them; I’ll handle that.”

She had _no_ problem with that.

Phil turned to Natasha and suddenly dipped his head. “You’ll get his?”

Natasha’s face stoned-up a bit more, but she nodded firmly. “Yes, sir.”

.... right. Where the hell was Clint?

The Black Widow hopped down from the table but was straining to walk. Out of a weird instinct Darcy was beside her in a second, slipping under her arm and helping against her bum leg. Natasha gave her a look, but didn’t push her away.  

And maybe Darcy would find out where the hell Clint was.

“You two will be okay?” Pepper asked.

Before they could respond, Tony laughed. “These are the two most capable women in the building. They’ll be fine.” He frowned when something came to him. “Don’t we have a dinner or something tonight?”

Pepper cursed under her breath and left the room in a hurry, dragging Tony with her. Productive Pepper was back, and they were very, _very_ late. So, things were back to normal.

Sort of.

Darcy had never been up to the Avengers apartments before. She knew they existed; it was like a firehall, where the firemen would all stay under one roof to be ready to roll out at a second’s notice. Darcy and the Widow haven’t spent too much time alone, just from circumstance, but another ten minutes wouldn’t kill them.

80 floors up from where they were, Darcy helped Natasha step out of the elevator onto a dark floor. To the left was a kitchen, stainless steel and dark mahogany-wood everything. Beside it was a living room. No one was there and nothing was on. To the right, three doors were in the wide corridor. The one closest to the elevator was shut, whoever behind it, quiet. Natasha eyed it warily, and Darcy noticed, but the spy didn’t say anything else, simply nodded in the direction of her own door.

Once Natasha had opened her door, she leaned on the doorframe and let go of Darcy. “Here is good,” she said dismissively.

Darcy nodded. “Okay. Feel better.” She meant it sincerely; it wasn’t as if she imagined the Black Widow would invite her in for hot cocoa and story time. There had been enough of pushing limits for today. And on the other hand, she was curious as to what would happen if she knocked on that door Natasha eyed earlier--

But the grip Natasha held on her arm was so sharp she winced. “Ow-“ but her voice died when she turned back, the glare Darcy received shut her up instantly.

In the lowest voice Darcy ever heard, Natasha said, “Clint had to shoot a little girl today.”

_... what?_

“The perp had just injected her with the same shit that took over Curt Conners. He had already hit up four more, wanting to make an army of mini-lizards to terrorize the city. The other four girls’ bodies had deteriorated in minutes. Clint had to make the call to put her out of her misery before the serum began to work.”

Everything in Darcy went cold.

Natasha must have realized that she got the point across, for her fingers finally loosened (not soon enough; no doubt there would be finger-length bruises on Darcy’s pale skin come morning) and she leaned back. “When a mission’s gone badly, Clint needs to be alone. Understood?”

She managed to nod, but it was numb, automatic just to appease her.

Without another word, Natasha slipped into her room, closing the door behind her, leaving Darcy in the hallway. She stared at the ground, catching her breath, but Natasha’s few words kept painting a horrific picture in her mind... and another one... and another...

Jesus Christ, she needed to get out of here.

With a dash towards the elevator, she pressed the button frantically, willing it to arrive faster. The shaking from earlier came back, and she just needed to get out of the building, out on the street, she needed sunlight—well, crap, it’s night now. Fine, she needed fresh air and to be around normal people and maybe to listen to her iPod for a while. Lose herself in some music, in a world far away from this one—holy fuck, what was she thinking when she took this job?! Working for superheroes, oh yeah, so COOL, so _hip,_ good job, Darce—

And then from the end of the hall, the farthest door away, she heard the low, booming laugh of her favorite Norse god and the happy giggle of her favorite scientist.

Darcy’s meltdown stopped short at the sound. She leaned back, peering at the door. Had she just heard that?

Is that where Jane ran off to as soon as she could? To Thor’s bed?  Part of her wanted to shudder at all the obvious sex jokes, but considering Pepper’s behavior with Tony, she couldn’t find a snarky bone in her body right now.

Tony was alright as soon as he kissed Pepper. Thor would stop being mournful as soon as he had Jane back in his arms. The job of a superhero girlfriend was just as important as the guy saving the city.

_You need to be there for them when they need it most. You need to take the good and the bad... and sometimes there is a lot of bad to be had, Darcy._

If she had an out, it was here and now. If Clint wanted to open up about that stuff, he would do it in his own time and at his own pace. Maybe he never would, and it wasn’t her place to make him. But shouldn’t he at least know that, if he wanted to talk, she was an option for someone who’d listen?

But was she thought? After Natasha laid it all out, she just had a panic attack.

Some stupid, self-destructive part of her mind reminded her that she didn't know how Steve survived a bad mission.

As she stared at Clint’s door handle, the elevator finally arrived and opened for her, welcoming her to the outside, to the street, to the fresh air and the normal people she could blend in with so easily. To go back to daydreaming about other men, even though there was a real one on the other side of that door. To go back to never getting too deep.

_._

_._

_._

_Don't you dare look out your window, darlin'  
_

_Everything's on fire  
_

_The war outside our door keeps raging on  
_

_._

_._

_.  
_

He’s not laying down. Hell, he’s not even out of his uniform. The quiver and bow are tossed to the side, which should be indicator number one that Clint is not his normal self, because he babied the hell out of that bow. But not tonight. No, he could barely take care of himself tonight.

If he lay down he would get _her_ blood on his sheets, and then he’d never get to sleep. If he lay down, he wouldn’t get around to cleaning his bow. It was covered in dirt and grime and more of _her_ blood. But he was too exhausted to do anything. It took all the strength he had left to talk to Phil, to tell him what happened, to keep his calm when the tactical squad cleaned up and the agents flocked around and there were so many people... he nearly lost it before Phil had noticed and gave him an out. He ditched the mandatory medical checkup and got back to the tower, to his dark room, as fast as he could. That was an hour ago, and he can’t do anything.

Worst of all, if he lay down, he’d sleep. He’d dream. But not of any pleasantries.

Experience has taught him that darkness and solitude were all that calmed the demons that ran through his head. The darker the better; shadows only played tricks and mimicked memories.

 This was somehow for the greater good. This was somehow for humanity. Yet someone had to pull the trigger, and no one cared how he would deteriorate afterwards. His heart was still pumping—he wasn’t dead. That other guy is.

... no, that was selfish thinking. Clint was already tainted; better him than someone innocent and pure.

Better to stew by himself before he contaminates someone else.

Whatever. He’d be fine in the morning.

He was even slow to notice his door open. When he became aware of her presence he sat up, and his body shifted as if ready to make a grab for his arrows, pure instinct taking over his weak body—but when he saw it was her, the panic left, and he was suddenly more tired.

“Darce,” he mumbled, her name a sigh from his lips. Instantly his muscles sagged.

Darcy was so focused on how utterly un-Clint everything was that she had barely seen him. He was covered in sweat and dirt—at least, she hoped the dark brown smudges were dirt—looking nothing like the guy she knew. The coldness that hit her stomach earlier grew heavier.

Her stare was too much for him to handle—he lowered his head back into his hands, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m fine, Darce,” he told the carpet. “Just... just go.”

She didn’t.

He heard her footsteps, now that he was paying attention, and the sound wasn’t in the direction of the door, but to his bathroom. He clenched his teeth together and took a deep, harsh breath through his nose.

He was going to end up yelling at her to leave, and it’d all be over.

Oh, well. He always ended up making the girls run, anyway.

She’d be better off that way.

When she got back to the bed she walked to his side, setting something down on the floor, out of sight from him. What he could see was her kick her shoes off—after a bit of frantic foot shaking—before sinking to her knees. If she ducked she could probably peek through his hands and see him.

Some small voice in the back of his mind pleaded with him to be gentle, to tell (not scream) her to go, and he hoped that voice would rule out because he had no idea what would happen when he lifted his head. But before he could, her hand, holding a plus, wet, terry cloth, reached up and began to run over his dirty forearms.

Clint pulled his head up sharply—but it didn’t phase her. She rubbed the towel back and forth, scrubbing a bit until she was satisfied with the result, rinsed it in the basin beside her, next to his feet, and worked on his other arm.

Darcy had grabbed a basin from underneath his bathroom sink, filled it with water, and brought it beside the bed. Beside it was a pile of his washcloths and a first-aid kit. 

In his state of shock she had pulled at his hands and began sliding the fabric between his fingers, on a mission to get every spec of dirt off his skin. All he wanted to do was shake her and tell her he’d never be clean. It was permanent, a tattoo that wouldn’t disappear even if she rubbed him raw. That it was all useless.

Instead, he saw her eyes.

Darcy was moving methodically and her eyes weren’t sad. Those blue orbs didn’t pity him. They weren’t cold or robotic, either, just... focused. No, her blue eyes, normally cool like a storm, were very warm in that moment. When she looked up into his eyes his lips parted with the force of them.

The corner of her mouth quirked with a small smile. “Close your eyes.”

When he did he felt the warm and heat brush over his skin, over his eyes, leaving everything fresh again. She reached back and scrubbed over his neck before sitting up more. “Let’s get this thing off,” she suggested, starting to pull at zippers and buckles.

“What? ... o-oh.”

Slowly, and quite awkwardly (not just from Darcy but Clint, too) they got his body armour off and tossed aside. He had a light gash across his collarbone, which Darcy tried to clean carefully. Once she cleaned the sweat off his chest and back, she reached back to her washcloths and picked one up—no, that wasn’t a washcloth.

She shrugged, daring a small smile. “It smelled clean.” It was the black undershirt he had hung on the back of his bathroom door that morning. She helped slide his arms back into it.

Throughout it all they were both quiet, except for a quiet request (like “foot up” for her to untie his shoes or something) from her. Clint hadn’t been taken care of so thoroughly since... well, since his mom cleaned him up when he was a kid. It was a vague memory, but he remembered it being warm and how gentle his mom had been. Not that Darcy was like his mom—no, this was different. She was always the sarcastic one, the only girl he’s met to beat him to a ‘that’s what she said’ opportunity. She’s a good time. She’s not meant to be around the dark stuff.

Yet, this evening, this whole act, has shown that she’s capable of handling it. She’s _willing_ to handle it.

Even when he was with Natasha, they both needed their own space after a bad mission. Angry sex ended up breaking them more.

Darcy... she’s a first.

Soon he was as clean as he could get, she had put some quick-fix bandaids on his collarbone and a few scrapes along his arm, and there was nothing else to do.  When she tosses all of the dirty rags into the water and looks up at him, his eyes are already trained on him. Eyes that always held a little humour or sarcasm, now so lost.

Feeling a bit inspired from Pepper recharging Tony so effectively earlier, she leaves the basin for a second and leans up, cupping his face. His eyes widen at the motion, as if surprised by the skin-on-skin contact, but they close quickly when she presses a soft, simply kiss to his mouth. One of his hands wraps around her wrist and squeezes, as if she’d disappear. But she doesn’t. She’s still here.

Darcy pulls back, stroking his cheek once more before picking up the dirty water and cloths, first-aid kit under her arm as she stands up. She’s about to head to the bathroom when she heard him finally say something.

“Stay?”

Her steps halted, turning to him, surprised by the request. But it was completely obviously that he was not in the mood for what everyone had warned Darcy about... no, he just needed a human.

With the same smile as before, she nodded. “Sure.”

Thankfully she had turned away before he released a shaking breath. As if she could’ve said ‘no’ to _that_ face. And she was already here, wasn’t she?

By the time she took care of the basin and threw the cloths in the hamper in the bathroom, he was only just pulling back the covers. Darcy walked up to the bed, pausing momentarily to pull her dark sweater off. The movement made Clint freeze with sudden anxiety until he saw she had been wearing a black tanktop beneath her sweater. Her sweater sat on her purse in the corner, and when she turned back he was under.

Actually, she was rather nervous, and tried to make up for it by making a show of fluffing her pillow when she climbed in. They both migrated to the middle of the massive bed, meeting halfway, and Darcy’s little smile was the only invitation Clint needed to curl up into her side. She sat a bit higher on her pillow, Clint’s head in her shoulder, his arms around her waist and holding her close. She played with his hair, teasing it gently, over and over and it was so soothing to his head that he couldn’t even think of the demons.

He didn’t know he needed this.

The turning point between ‘dating’ and ‘relationship’ is when someone makes an offer to show something deeper than what they wear.

He simply didn’t expect her to make the first move and she didn’t expect him to let her stay.

_._

_._

_._

  
_Just close your eyes, the sun is going down_   
_You’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now_   
_Come morning light, you and I’ll be safe and sound_   


_._

_._

_._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***As usual, I do not own anything Marvel or anything Pixar or anything by Katy Perry. This is a work of fiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

Three days after she came into his life—and his lunch time—Steve Rogers and Darcy Lewis broke into Tony Stark’s home theatre like a couple of delinquents.

Phil was in a meeting for the rest of the afternoon, a meeting she didn’t have to take notes at for once, and right in the middle of her _super fascinating_ game of solitaire, Rogers came by with his reports from some mishap or another. She had smiled warmly at him; they had already seen each other earlier, at lunch, and had a nice conversation about his favorite New York spots. Turns out they both love the park more than anywhere else.

Steve had been thinking about their first conversation more than anything else, though (among other things... like her lip colour and her hair) which is why he couldn’t resist the urge to linger at her cubicle, tapping his fist against his thigh while he gathered the courage to speak up. Darcy, who had turned around to set his reports aside with the others, noticed the movement and looked up at his shy smile, expectant.

Finally, after taking a moment to eye over the wall of her cubicle, staring through the glass walls of the boardroom close by—everyone inside, including Phil, was preoccupied—he grinned, a tad mischievously, and asked, “You still want to check out Tony’s movie collection?”

Like he had to ask.

They had crept out of her cubicle, hunched behind the walls so as not to be seen, and it had her giggling like an idiot before they reached the elevator. It hadn’t stopped by the time they reached Tony’s floor, which sucked because Darcy totally wanted to take in the ultra-modern interior decorating style that was Pepper Potts, a style she had no doubt was flawless and ahead of its time, but she was still giggling, even as Steve shushed her.  All she could think about was that one time in junior high her and a friend had snuck into the cheap matinee theatre, the thrill of getting caught giving them an adrenaline high that channeled into laughter, but honestly, this was Tony Stark’s penthouse. It’s not like they were cheating a theatre of its money; they simply were going in uninvited.

After a few easy turns they hit a door at the end of a hallway. Steve pressed his thumb against a pad beside the door and it opened after a confirming _beep._

“My god, Stark watches reruns in _style,_ ” Darcy exclaimed as she walked in.

Steve let out a heavy sigh. “Yep, he is all about style.” If only she knew how much Steve hated the word now.

The screen had to be at least 60 inches, if not more. There were draped red velvet valences and curtains, just like an old-style theatre, and instead of chairs, well there were double-wide chaise lounges. Seven of those, to be precise, in two rows of sunken steps, and in the corner by the screen was what looked like the most elaborate home-theatre setup she had ever seen. But as soon as she took a step towards it, the lights softly turned on, illuminating the room, and a pleasant English voice said, “ _Welcome back, Captain Rogers._ ”

“Geezus!” Darcy jumped, her purse falling on the floor in reaction. Steve grimaced at the scare, realizing too late that she probably hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Tony’s AI.

After nervously running his hand through his hair, he replied (because it was the polite thing to do), “Thanks, JARVIS.”

Darcy turned to Steve, stunned. “Jarvis?”

“Tony’s AI—he runs everything in our apartments and Tony’s labs.”

“Oh. That makes sense, actually.” She tilted her head away, curiosity swimming in her eyes. “You’ve been here before?”

Steve slowly made his way over to the home theatre setup as he explained. “When I first... _woke up_ , Stark thought the easiest way to catch me up with the times was with news reels.” With an air of familiarity, he activated the touch-screen at the computer—and then pulled the touch screen _out_ of the wall. Holy crap, Tony had a _tablet_ for a remote control. Steve made his way back over to her as he scrolled through the library. “It took a while, but I got through a lot of them—or, well, the important ones, according to Stark.”

Darcy was seriously doubting that Stark _really_ knew the difference between what he deemed important newsreels and what Steve really needed to watch, but she wasn’t going to get into that. Instead, she accepted the tablet from Steve, sliding through a few pages of movies.  Wow, you could make playlists— _playlists—_ of whatever movies you wanted to get around to watching. She was getting far too enthralled with it all, to the point where they had both sat down on one of the lounges to look through it. Darcy asked JARVIS to start a playlist for her and Steve, but Steve interrupted and told her this would guarantee that Tony would know they broke in... so they started saving onto the playlist left for Steve.

Steve wanted to trust her judgement on the films, especially after she sensed his unease over a few choices and went into a large speech about how film transcends time, and the message is the same regardless of culture and whatever ‘modern day’ happens to be at the moment. It was why fantasy movies were accepted as a genre; it doesn’t belong in any storyline or decade of Earth’s time, but it’s still enjoyable. Nonetheless, there were a few war pictures that Darcy added—the one titled _Pearl Harbour_ –that had him worried.

Steve frowned at the latest selection. “Who decided it was okay to make a movie about a ship sinking? Thousands of people died.”

“It’s an epic love story, Cap,” Darcy explained. “With a horribly catchy love theme—“ and then she recalled the horribly tragic ending, and it connected with something Tony called Steve earlier when he was annoyed about him for some reason. _Capsicle._

She quickly deleted _Titanic_ from the list, and when Steve was about to ask, her face was frozen with horror over her own faux pas and he decided to leave it.

“I think,” she announced, thirty minutes after they began this affair, “that the ideal first choice would be _The Incredibles._ ” She tapped the film on the tablet, and the lights dimmed and the screen lit up before them just as she scooted back onto the lounger. Steve, after a momentary struggle over what was proper in a situation like this, eventually shrugged off his leather jacket, draping it over the arm of the chair before leaning back with her. The loungers were wide, leaving no chance of anyone accidently brushing up on the other while they watched.

Steve’s eyes widened a bit as the movie started. “It’s animated.”

Darcy nodded. “Animated motion pictures have become a staple in the film industry.”

A grin pulled at his lips. “And it’s about superheroes.”

“I find it very accurate.”

And while it wasn’t the way Steve had imagined his first picture date would go, it was wonderful in its own way. He was pretty sure she didn’t consider it a date, which may have been his hope but it wasn’t his initial intention when he invited her to do this, but that was okay.  Today was an opportunity to see what her preferences were, to hear her laugh, to see what got her choked up. Of course she caught him smirking over the introduction of Incrediboy and she called him on it and he didn’t seem that remorseful when he said he was sorry he thought of Tony just now. She eventually curled up on the chair, as if being in a cosy nest of her sweater and a blanket was where she was most comfortable. Her toes poked against his hips a bit.  Near the end, when Frozone yells at his wife over his supersuit, Darcy tells Steve to now imagine that Frozone was Director Fury and his wife was actually Agent Phil.

And for the first time Darcy was treated to a truly free laugh from Steve Rogers.

She was a goner.

_._

_._

_._

_He put it on me, I put it on,_  
 _Like there was nothing wrong._  
 _It didn't fit, it wasn't right--wasn't just the size._  
 _They say you know when you know..._  
 _I don't know..._

_._

_._

_._

 “Clint was looking pretty good this morning,” Pepper pointed out.

Darcy’s pen slipped from where she had been making notes to scratch straight across the paper and onto the boardroom table. Frantic, she licked her finger and rubbed furiously at the ink-spot to wipe it away—as if its disappearance would make the sudden ball of anxiety leave her stomach, too.

Pepper had only made the comment off-hand, but the assistant’s reaction had spelled it out. She smiled sweetly at her. “Tony told me what happened last night.” She paused, looking over her shoulder to check they were still alone. She could see Phil in his office, no one was walking into the boardroom and the door was closed, so this was purely assistant to assistant... or girlfriend to girlfriend? Either way, they had their privacy. “I guess he, Natasha, Clint and Bruce were there when _it_ happened; Thor and Steve were outside keeping the perimeter. Bruce said the Other Guy was so upset he ran off,” she paused, catching Darcy’s reaction. “The minute it was over, Clint couldn’t be found.”

Darcy pulled her bottom lip in, chewing it nervously.

The smile on Pepper’s face waned momentarily as she searched through Darcy’s gaze. Finally, she settled on empathy. “I warned you that it would be hard.”

She couldn’t keep her composure up after that; her shoulders sagged and she dropped the pen and Darcy leaned on the table, her fingers pressing her temples. “Is it stupid that I hate that we only slept together and didn’t... _sleep_ together?” she mumbled, and she felt only stupider for asking.

The smile disappeared from Peppers face, and Darcy figured that the tall blonde had obviously not expected the conversation to go this way. But come one, they were both part of the Blue Room: who the hell else could Darcy talk to about this?

After recrossing her legs—which Darcy had recently figured meant that Pepper was recomposing herself and coming up with a new strategy—she cleared her throat and asked, “So you’re still taking it slow?”

“I mean,” Darcy leaned back in her chair now, dramatically, exhausted, she didn’t know anymore, “I know that using sex as a coping mechanism post-mission-gone-bat-shit-crazy is probably not healthy for either of us, even though that seems to be Thor and Jane’s way of dealing with things, but honestly, I haven’t gone out with a guy this long without getting _something_. I... I don’t get it.”

Just as Pepper opened her mouth to respond, Darcy sat up again when another thing hit her. “And another thing’s bugging me—I can’t stop thinking about what the hell happens to Steve when he has a bad day. Who the hell does he talk to?! Does, does he spend five hours in the gym breaking punching bags? Does he listen to angry music? Does he sit there hating himself?! _I don’t know_ , and now I’m worried that I jumped into this with Clint _way_ too fast because if he and I don’t work out in a week, next time something goes wrong, I’m not going to be there for him, and then _he_ may be sitting there hating himself and _that sucks_ and I’m a _sucky person.”_

“.... are you done?”

Darcy pouted, feeling childish for how she went on and on. “... I think so,” she mumbled.

Pepper nodded, perfectly patient. “Alright, well, here’s my two cents: if you think you jumped into the caring thing too quickly, the only thing that’s going to solve _that_ is if you talk with him. You two need to figure out where you are.”

Darcy pouted harder. She knew that but she didn’t want to.

“Secondly, and I’m speaking honestly,” Pepper lifted a hand and pressed against her chest, trying to come across as sincere. “The team has... they’ve had a few bad missions the last few weeks. This is simply the first one that you’ve heard about.”

Wait, really?

“And,” Pepper bit her lips together, and it was like she wasn’t sure if this would hurt or help the situation, but she finally let out a huff of air and her own shoulders sagged—resistance was futile. “... Steve’s done better since you’ve started sitting with him at lunch. _Much_ better.”

... for some reason she didn’t feel better about herself.

Pepper frowned at her silence. “You don’t look happy to hear that.”

Darcy shrugged, crossing her arms tightly and avoiding her gaze. “We’re just friends, Pepper.”

The phone that the CEO had left on the desk started beeping, and Pepper began to gather her things and stand up, reading her new text message as she spoke. “I’m not saying that Clint isn’t a great guy; I’m not saying you two aren’t suited for each other. And you _never_ heard this from me...” she made a point at waiting for Darcy to meet her gaze before continuing.

There was a ghost of a smirk on her face. “I’m pretty sure Tony put you in the Blue Room because he thinks you’re perfect for the Cap.”

Her skin flushed from head to toe faster than her brain could compute what she just said. Rather than deny, or acknowledge.... maybe she should figure out what everyone else thinks she should do. Give her brain a break.

After swallowing, hard—her throat was impossibly dry—Darcy stuttered, “Wh, what do you think?”

Pepper had taken Darcy’s mini-coma as a break, so she started typing a response to her text. She didn’t even look up when she replied. “I think you need to unwind like the rest of us. Tony is having a ‘thing’ at our penthouse tomorrow night and attendance is mandatory.” She finished typing and smiled at Darcy, the professional one she always wore. “You should come by. Relax. And then seriously think about talking with Clint.”

Thanks for nothing, Pepper.

Jane was just as useless the next day when Darcy presented her dilemma to her while they stood in the lunch line. “I guess I’m sorry you’re not all hot and heavy?”

Darcy’s glare at the scientist was positively foul. “No you’re not, especially since you’re getting some.” She continued to shuffle along the lunch line, wondering why she was happy that Jane had come out of her lab at all.

Jane shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Darce—you haven’t told me everything, I know that much, and with what I have... well, what do you want?  A break or something?”

“I’d _love_ a break,” Darcy groaned, even shrinking down a bit with emphasis, fingers gripping her lunch tray tightly. “I need like three days. Maybe a week. Hey, even better, can Thor do that thing from _Superman,_ where he flies around the world backwards and turns back time? Can he do that for me? I’d even take time-travel, if he can’t pause everything.”

Now Jane glared with an equally sour stare. “That doesn’t work, you know—time goes on as normal but the ecosystem is compromised, the tidal patterns change, there’d be tsunamis and earthquakes—“

“God, kill my dream, why don’t you,” Darcy cut her off, hating when science got in the way of movie magic. Why can’t things ever be that simple? Snap your fingers and you’re back to two weeks ago, choosing a different path?

Speaking of fingers, a pair of familiar ones slid around her waist, pulling her close to him before she had a chance to look up. 

“Hey,” Clint said with a soft smile, and while his expression was completely sincere, Darcy couldn’t help worrying if his super-hearing had picked up on their not-so-super conversation.  If he had, he didn’t let on, and she found his smile contagious, especially since she hadn’t seen it in so long.

Tentatively, she smiled back. “Hey.” Her eyes drifted to his other hand, spotting the Starbucks cup out of the corner of her eye. She frowned before blurting the obvious: “You hate coffee.”

“It’s not for me,” he stated, passing it over. “It’s for you. Mocha mint chocolate... extra whipping, extra chocolate flakes, right?”

Darcy knew she couldn’t dare look in Jane’s direction, because whatever Darcy said mattered to her in terms of boys, Jane knew two things more than anyone: if you bring Darcy food, she’ll love you forever. If you bring Darcy her favorite thousand-calorie Starbucks drink (and even ordered it properly)? She’ll throw her panties across the room for you. And the annoying slurping of Jane’s soda meant she was probably grinning mischievously because Darcy was now a lost cause.

And to her credit, she really tried to keep it together.

Which is why she only pulled him into a hot kiss and resisted the urge to take him right then and there in the lunchline.  

Clint, taken by surprise, managed to put the hot beverage down out of the way before she made grabby hands, sliding them up through his hair and angling his head for something deeper. Completely aware that most of his coworkers could see this, Clint lifted one hand from her waist, threading his fingers through her hair and gently tugged her back, allowing him a second to breathe and remind her as such. “Everybody’s watching.”

“Let ‘em look.”

“Oookay,” Jane stepped up and pulled the friends-don’t-let-best-friends-get-slutty-in-public card by elbowing Darcy sharply in the small of her back. The smaller brunette instantly cringed and curled back from Clint to glare, but Jane just shrugged, completely un-phased; she’s received worse.

It was an awkward introduction to one of her closest friends, but Clint was pleasant enough and he was all-smiles today so Jane got to see how cute he was. Part of the conversation _was_ helped by the fact that he works with Jane’s boyfriend—they traded a few jokes at the poor Norse god’s expense, but by the end of it, Jane had this knowing smile that said he was a decent guy.  Which meant she probably wasn’t going to be on Darcy’s whole I-need-a-break side any longer. She saw no reason to avoid having “the talk” when she couldn’t see anything wrong with him.

That’s just it: there wasn’t anything wrong with Clint. There was something wrong with Darcy.

Jane told Clint that it was nice to meet him, and told Darcy she would snag them a table in the cafeteria.  Darcy started sipping her coffee as she rocked on her toes, staring up fondly at the archer as minty-flavoured goodness seeped into her system, warming her up even more. A part of her would be mad at herself for being so easily overcome by food, because she should really worry about other things when it comes to love, but whatever.  It just tastes so good right now.

Clint was still smiling, not too much or too forceful. He’s relaxed, he’s cleaned up. This is the same Clint that she went on that first date with—and then he pulled a move he had done that night they went out. He reached out and brushed some over her curls back before smoothing his hand over her sweater from her shoulder to her elbow.

 “So, you want to come to Stark’s thing?”

Darcy grinned. “What, like, _with you?_ ”

Clint pouted, and she felt it more than saw it. “Yeah, _with me_.”

 “Well,” Darcy started, trying to act as detached as possible. “Pepper told me about the party _yesterday,_ and Jane told me about five minutes ago, and I was _already_ going,” after keeping a deadpan voice for so long, it was impossible to keep at it after seeing the intensity of his pout. She grinned. “But I’m really glad you asked me.”

“So you were _waiting_ for me to ask?” When she nodded, he sighed, looking heavenward for a second while pulling her close by her hips. It made her giggle before he met her gaze again. “So this was a test. Did I pass? Do I get a reward or something?”

Darcy managed to take another sip of her coffee, even though he was holding her so closely. The cup was very warm between their bodies, even with the separation of her fingers. “Winners choice?” She assumed it would be her turn to treat him to dinner or something.

He gaze was on her mouth as he spoke, a heat in his eyes. “Maybe... after the party,” his voice was hushed. “... do you want to stay over again?” When he met her gaze she realized it wasn’t a heat, but warmth--something better.  And just a tad bit of nervousness, especially at the implication.

Across the cafeteria, Jane was already half-finished her sandwich as she watched Darcy and Clint cuddle out in the open. Her logical brain was trying to analyze the equation her friend had presented her with. There were missing variables—and some new ones that came into play since Clint showed up with the Drink of Life, as Darcy has put it—but as she used her past experiences to fill what she assumed belonged to the equation, even though Darce didn’t know it yet, she couldn’t see what was wrong.  What was the answer? Darcy was thinking too hard. She wasn’t used to a guy that was an actual guy, a man, and not a boy.

Darcy and Clint began kissing goodbye—which in Jane’s experience meant she still didn’t have her table mate for another three minutes at the _least_ –so she looked away and thought of other things. Yeah, Darcy complained that Jane and Thor “mack” far too often and it’s nauseating, but Jane hadn’t appreciated Darcy’s statement until she saw the role-reversal.  She rolled her eyes, reaching for her pop again, indulging in the sugar rush since it would thoroughly reboot her brain by the time she hit the lab after lunch—

And that’s when she saw it.

Standing to the side of the cafeteria, about to ease into his own chair at a table far away from everyone else. The sun hit his blonde hair and if she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought the tall, handsome hunk was her own boyfriend, but no, this wasn’t him. This was the captain, staring across the room, right in the direction of Darcy and Clint, with a horrible longing in his eyes. It ached to watch him look away, to force himself to put in some distance, sit down and eat his lunch in solitude.

That missing variable slapped her right in the face.

“Ooooh,” she murmured quietly before slurping her pop again.

 

.

.

_._

_Snow White said when I was young, "One day my prince will come."_  
 _So I'll wait for that date._  
 _They say it's hard to meet your match, gotta find my better half_  
 _So we make perfect shapes..._

_._

.

.

Steve felt, on the whole, a bit pathetic today.

He had been fine until he had reached the cafeteria. After getting his lunch he looked around, trying to spot his favorite brunette, and he did, eventually; she was across the room, pressed close to Clint as he spoke in low tones and made her grin. They openly kissed in front of everyone before Clint stalked off to wherever he spent his lunch (probably in the training room or up an air vent or something), and Darcy made her way through the tables to join her friend, Jane. But even after Clint had left, Steve couldn’t bring himself to join her. Instead he sat by himself, away from everyone else, and ate in silence.

Watching Darcy kiss Clint caused a prickly feeling of dread, one that had been born a week or so ago, to wake up and nibble away at him through the rest of the day, and it only got worse after the conscious decision to sit by himself. He couldn’t man up and just be her friend. It was all his own damn fault anyway, the situation they were in: if he had manned up and asked her on a real movie date after they broke into Tony’s theatre the first time, maybe she would be his girl by now. Maybe he’d be the one she’d kiss in the cafeteria. But he hadn’t.

It only made him more frustrated, more regretful, and then he felt more pathetic and them he was supposed to go to Tony’s damn party, and it wasn’t like Steve could get drunk anyway and having to interact and get along with everyone wasn’t helping the hermit mood he was in...

So about ten minutes into the ‘party,’ he was back in the home theatre. He had only snuck in two more times with her since that first day, and at the rate they were going and the length of Darcy’s playlist, it would take _years_ to watch them all.

Might as well get started on his own; she won’t be around as much.

At random, he chose an animated film. While it was supposed to be a ‘kids film,’ as Darcy had put it, Steve found some glaring similarities between himself and the robot on the screen. While WALL-E found the new objects on this derelict world fascinating and amazing, Steve saw him as alone, out of place, hard to understand. The introduction of EVE wasn’t helping the mood Steve was in, either; here was the first girl WALL-E had seen in centuries, stylish, strong and confident, and she was out of his league, far more advanced and unavailable.

Well, in WALL-E’s case, EVE had her functions overridden and couldn’t wake up. So she wasn’t emotionally unavailable, per say... but the premise was a bit too familiar to him.

After about ten minutes of contemplating turning it off because it wasn’t helping his mood, he began to sit up, preparing to go back to the party and then maybe back to his room, but the door to the theatre had slid open behind him.

“How _dare_ you watch _WALL-E_ without me!” Darcy had exclaimed. She held a colorful drink in her hands, no doubt some fruity concoction of Tony’s making, and appeared to have had a few already. It made her cheeks flush just a tad, making a beautiful contrast to her pink lips. 

She had smiled and climbed onto the couch beside him and pulled up the blanket and curled up like she always did, her toes lightly pressing into his hip. Steve settled back into the chair and didn’t say another word while the movie played, occasionally looking over to her when she giggled over little things.

Shortly after she laughed at WALL-E’s introduction to M-O (the smudging of the neat-freak robot’s face _was_ pretty funny), she became uncharacteristically quiet. He tried not to read too much into it; after all, he was happy she was here, with him. Hell, the minute she walked in a lot of the doom and gloom that had been hanging on him all day went away.  Spending time with her, even in silence, was more therapeutic than anything else he’d tried.

_Damn it, Steve, this is not how you get over a girl._

_._

_._

_._

  
_'Cause I know you're out there,_  
 _And you're, you're looking for me..._  
 _It's a crazy idea that you were made perfectly for me_  
 _You'll see..._

_._

_._

_._

The Avengers were on-call, as usual, but Agent Coulson and Agent Hill and even Director Fury all had an understanding that the superheroes were a last resort should a situation arise, because tonight, they really needed to unwind.

And unwind they bloody well did. Clint, unfortunately, had been held back an hour or so with some leftover paperwork—and damn it, Phil, Clint had _plans_ tonight, he could care less about expense reports—but he eventually was let go and getting of Tony’s private elevator into the penthouse suite.

“Hawkass!” Tony exclaimed, arms up like a little kid. He didn’t seem drunk yet, which was a good sign. Clint made a very conscious effort to leave a Stark party when the billionaire began getting tipsy. It was better for everyone that way. “Have a drink!”

Knowing resistance was futile, he met him at the bar, waving in greeting to his teammates seated in Tony’s living room. “Something neat,” he told the billionaire bartender, giving the crowd a second glance. There were some Avengers girls there, just not the one he thought would be missing. “Where’s Darce?”

“They’re breaking into my theatre again.” Tony says off-hand. When Clint gives him a look, the billionaire just sighs, rolling his eyes, instantly looking annoyed. “Rogers thinks he’s being funny when he knows the code to get inside, but JARVIS tells me every time those dingalings have a movie marathon.”

Suddenly he slammed the crystal liquor bottle against the granite counter-top. Clint was sure he had cracked it, and anyone who hadn’t been listening to their conversation now had their full attention—Pepper especially, since she was trying to keep an eye on Tony tonight. But all he did was lean forward, narrowing his eyes dangerously. “You know what they watched last week? _Toy Story._ You really think Rogers should be watching movies about toys, of all things, FEELING OLD?”

Clint leaned back from the bar, just to get some distance between him and that fricking stare.

Pepper sighed loudly and stood from the couch, making her way over. “I think it’s nice that she’s getting him to watch the better movies,” she announces. With a sharp look at Tony, she added, “Better _Toy Story_ than you forcing him to watch _Inglorious Basterds.”_

Tony lifted his hands defensively. “That’s a great movie!”

“--In which the guy Steve spent most of his military career trying to kill dies inaccurately,” Bruce points out, unable to ignore that glaring fact. Steve had actually been pretty upset when he found out that Hitler had taken his own life, instead of standing trial for his misdoings, and it took him a while to get over it (if he had). So watching what could have happened probably wouldn’t help

When Tony glared at his ‘science bro,’ wishing he had been backed up, Bruce simply shrugged and sipped his tonic water.

Clint, on the other hand, glances down the hallway that he knows the theatre room is down. As secure as he is as a man, and as sure as he usually is about his girls, he doesn’t know how to react to the itch of jealousy that’s starting to nag at him. I mean, sure, he trusted Darce—he had no reason not to—and he never imagined Steve to be the cheater-type... hell, he was Captain America, the mascot for moral fiber.

Pepper poured herself another glass of wine. “I think the best thing for Steve is to start feeling like a human being again—and not an untouchable icon for people to ogle at.” There was a pause that caught Clint’s attention, even though Pepper wasn’t looking at him. “The man sat by himself in the lunchroom today, for goodness sake.”

The archer couldn’t bring himself to look over at Natasha. He didn’t have to see her to feel the glare; unconsciously he rubbed the back his neck, but it didn’t make the feeling go away.

Pepper took a sip of her wine before concluding. “Darcy’s ability to treat all of us like normal people is what makes her great; and it’s exactly the medicine Steve needs right now.”

_._

_._

_._

_I didn't feel the fairytale feeling, no.  
Am I a stupid girl for even dreaming that I could?_

_._

_._

_._

No, she was quiet because she was thinking. It was something that had been killing her for the last four days. Something she told herself she shouldn’t worry about so much. Because, by making the decision to go into Clint’s room that night, that should be the end of it. She should focus on him and her. Them. Us. And that meant not tending to other guys.

But _still,_ she couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“Steve?”

He turned his eyes from the screen.

Darcy tilted her head into the cushion so she could look up at him. “What do you do? After a mission goes... south?”

Steve’s eyes flickered away for a moment, somehow unable to look at her and she fucking hated herself for asking. He was here, he was smiling, he was doing _fine_ , why did she have to bring up the bad stuff again? God, Darce, how do you make friends _ever_.

“Depends.

Unable to stop the proverbial ball that was already rolling, she chewed her bottom lip for a second. “This time, then.”

She had to know. It was none of her business, and her reason for wanting to know was so selfish and pointless that if he ever asked her why, she’d hate herself. She needed to know that he would be okay by himself... since she’d be with Clint.

Fuck, she hated herself.

Thankfully for her, Steve wasn’t studying her face. He wasn’t looking into how hard she was staring, the pained expression on her face, how worried she was that he would say that he just sat alone wallowing in misery. Instead he faced forward, watching the robots whir across the screen. They were aboard the mother ship now, and WALL-E was watching the humans.

“I try to go out.”

Darcy frowned. “Like, the bar?”

Steve frowned right back. “I can’t get drunk, remember? No,” he shifted against the lounger, sliding further down into the cushions before looking back to the screen. His relaxation calmed her nerves slightly. “As soon as I can, I go out and... well, draw people.”

Darcy perked up at this. “Really?” It wasn’t sarcasm, but awe.

Steve nodded. “The park is the best; I’ve gone into the zoo once or twice.”

Darcy scooted closer, her interest peaking. Her knees were brushing against his hips at this point. “What have you drawn?”

Steve cleared his throat as he tried to stop his visible reaction to her pressing closer. “Um... there was a family with a toy boat at the pond in the park. Once I sketched an older couple sitting on a bench.”

Darcy hummed thoughtfully. “So you like to people watch.”

It was one of the only things Steve drew nowadays, and there was a real reason behind it. After the disaster that was two days ago, he had intentionally missed the debrief meeting because he just had to, _had to_ get out of the Tower and go draw. He spent the whole morning on a park bench; Coulson wasn’t even mad at him about disappearing for so long.

With a deep sigh, one that made his broad shoulders sag, Steve spoke very softly. “I .... I feel better when I go out and remind myself what I was fighting for... If we don’t remember our humanity, all of this is worthless.”

It breaks her heart a little bit.

Thor fights for Jane.

Tony fights for Pepper.

Steve... Steve is the most selfless one of all. He’s given so much to so many people that don’t even know it.

Maybe it’s the alcohol getting her emotional or maybe she’s just so damn emotional lately, but she scoots up to Steve, holding his arm. Steve jerks at the movement, dumbfounded as to what she was doing, and let her lift his arm up, only to realize her intention when she tucks her head against his shoulder and wraps her arms around his torso, squeezing tightly.

_DAMN IT, Steven, this is NOT how you get over a girl._

Steve swallows, his throat cotton-dry, arm hovering over her body because he’s too scared to touch her because this _has_ to be crossing some kind of line somewhere. “Darcy,” he mutters, his voice full of warning.

But she nuzzles her face against his shirt and retorts, “Shut up and let me hug you, Rogers.” Her voice catches with a small sob, but she won’t look up at him.

He’s not sure why she’s crying, but she feels too good pressed close to him. She’s soft and warm, and he can smell her hair from here without even trying... but more importantly, she was upset. It wasn’t calming down anytime soon. So he finally relaxes his arm, pulling her closer to him, keeping his grip firm, but not too tight, supportive if she needed it but nothing more.

On the screen, EVE and WALL-E had just saved the plant and EVE gave WALL-E a ‘spark.’ The swoon the smaller robot made had Steve grinning, knowing the feeling of utter shock when kissed by surprise by someone you care about. As they dance through the stars and around the flames of the ship, Steve notices that Darcy’s fallen asleep; her breaths are even and deep, and her once-tight hold around him had loosened up.

Should he move her over? Tuck her into the pillows and wrap the blanket around her, and leave her be? ... probably. But it’s impossible to argue the right thing to do when it feels too right in the moment.

So he watches the robots fall in love, keeping his arm around Darcy, his hands absently running through her hair and resisting the urge to hold her hand (in spite of the inspiration on-screen). This isn’t how you get over the girl, he knows that—but maybe another minute more will help when he finally cuts the ties.

.

_._

_._

  
_It's not like the movies,_  
 _But that's how it should be..._  
 _When he's the one, you'll come undone,_  
 _And your world will stop spinning,_  
 _And it's just the beginning..._

_._

_._

_._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A) I`m sorry this is SOOOO long. I can't believe how long this chapter is--6,300 words! Yikes. Again, SORRY!  
> B) Strayed away from the Taylor Swift lyrics this time because I remembered the Katy Perry song 'Not Like The Movies' and realized I like it better this round. 
> 
> Also, not particularly proud of this chapter. The next one, on the other hand, will be better. And more dramatic. This was mostly about Darcy humming and hawing over her decisions and insecurities. 
> 
> Anywho, I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think :) Thanks for reading! You guys are all wonderful for the comments and kudos <3


	6. Sad, Beautiful, Tragic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the big 'thing' that happens in this chapter was written before any other part of this story existed. It's partly thanks to enigma-eggroll that it exists, due to a tumblr post with a little prompt description and a corresponding .gif. It was very inspiring. 
> 
> Song is 'Sad Beautiful Tragic' by Taylor Swift. I think it fits wonderfully with what happens. *wink wink nudge*

The first time Darcy laid eyes on Captain America was when she opened her eleventh-grade history book to page 394. 

I mean, sure, she had seen renditions of him in those nostalgic comic prints from WWII, like everyone else had, but this was actually Steve Rogers. The description of his origins was vague; being a government super-project can have that effect. All it said was that Captain America had rescued hundreds of men from a POW camp by himself, only to die saving his country by putting a bomber plane down in the Arctic waters. She had always thought it was probably the coolest and most honourable war story of the time, and was fairly annoyed that public newspapers and textbooks never elaborated further than that. But there was a legit black-and-white photo of Steve, in full gear, helmet and shield included. When she tried to look up more about him, she found others. Sometimes he was directing another soldier, sometimes he was just smiling at a pal. One photo looked like it was taken in the middle of a full-blown howl of laughter. She only saw that photo once—all-American heroes shouldn't be laughing with a war going on. Smiling with charm? Yes. Giggles? Nope.—but that's all it took.

The smile did her in. Compared to all the boys who only smirked, or bore a cocky, shit-eating grin, there was something about Steve Rogers smile. Old world charm with an air of pure, genuine amusement when he grins... There is nothing fake or put-on about it. Like a real-life Disney prince, or something like that.

Silly as it was, Darcy genuinely hoped that one day, a guy would smile at her like that. She wondered how it would feel when a smile like that hit her; to know someone is so unbelievably happy to see you? Who doesn't want that?

When Jane was offered a grant with Stark (read: she really worked for SHIELD because the government wanted to keep an eye on her) Darcy had initially been flattered when Jane insisted on a job for Darcy, as well. She had been less enthused when she found the only job SHIELD wanted to give her was as an assistant to Agent Phil Coulson, the guy who was responsible for the iPod theft of 2010. But after the fuss Jane had made for her, and because she didn't have any other job prospects, she took it.

And that when the truth came out. That SHIELD was involved in supernatural incidents, like the Battle of Manhattan that shocked the nation. SHIELD had gathered the most brilliant, crazy talented and/or mutated people in the nation to defend their freedom. One of those people was Tony Stark. Another was a genius who became an 8-foot-tall green rage monster when he got mad. And another, back from his icy prison, was one Steve Rogers.

As soon as she sat patiently and obediently nodded through all the protocol and policy seminars and signed all the confidentiality agreements and got her username and password, she looked up and memorized Steve Rogers file. She hadn't expected the super-soldier serum, nor the idea that Steve Rogers was a skinny asthmatic kid from Brooklyn, nor that he was shown off like a prize horse in the USO for years before he saw active duty. How frustrating would that be? To fight so hard at a chance to defend your country, only to be made to feel plastic and stuck on a shelf like a collector Ken doll?

She first saw him for real in her second week on the job. After barely making it to the cafeteria in time for the last of the daily special, she had the trouble of finding a seat when the place was so full already. The only spare seats were at his table, and she jumped so hard she should've spilt her soup all over her sweater. She hasn't expected the living legend to be there in the Stark Tower cafeteria, bent over, and doodling something in silence.

He looked kind of lonely.

Bu she didn't have the guts to go introduce herself. So she ran away to eat her lunch with Jane in her lab.

She spotted him again and again, not always the same table but similar situation: by himself, not looking up a anyone and no one paying attention to him.

Everyone paid attention to Captain America but no one gave Steve Rogers a second glance.

"Geeze, can everyone get over the whole kicked-puppy thing?" Tony Stark asked, his hands elbow-deep into Jane’s spectral fragmenter. Since it was Stark equipment, Jane had called to have an engineer fix it because it was faulty; Darcy had come by with some paperwork, and they were chatting and killing time, waiting for their engineer, when Tony _freaking_ Stark stormed in, demanding to know how Jane had broken his babies (ie. the machines).

Darcy had a hard time not gawking at him.

Bruce Banner, aka “ragey green,” had asked Tony if he'd checked on Steve yet that day, and Starks response had been unsympathetic.

"The man has sass, alright?" Tony concluded. "He's got snark, and he loves throwing it at me any chance he has. Everyone needs to stop thinking he can't handle a mission-gone-bad because he's tougher and smarter than all of us, even if he only understands Wizard of Oz references and not quantum physics."

Darcy couldn't help frowning with confusion at the Oz comment and Jane couldn't keep a straight face. The banter between Bruce and Tony was... incomparable. And hard to believe it was happening.

Bruce signed, rubbing his temples, as he kept flipping through the papers of his research. "Just because you think he's one of those tough-nugget, I-walked-uphill-both-ways type of geriatric hardheads doesn't mean he doesn't deserve someone to talk to. If you don't want to talk to him, jus say so."

Tony pulled his hands from the machine, closing the panel sharply. Darcy noted the grease all over and held out a towel at the ready. As if he just saw her, he started but smirked, accepting it and cleaning off before looking at Banner.

"Banner, if you want my honest opinion? Cap doesn't need to talk to me--he needs to try talking to a girl."

Well, maybe Darcy finally had an in.

_._

_._

_._

_Long handwritten note deep in your pocket  
Words, how little they mean when you're a little too late_

_._

_._

_._

 

_"Captain Rogers, Miss Lewis, I'm afraid S.H.I.E.L.D. has just called a Code 37."_

Before Steve could reply to JARVIS, the emergency alarm system installed in Stark Tower went off. Since she was so familiar with it—in that it scared the crap out of her—Darcy woke up in an instant, gasping, wild-eyed and completely opposite of how peaceful she was when sleeping a second ago.

Steve almost laughed, and didn’t realize what he was doing before his hands reached up and gently patted down her sleep-mussed hair. She gave him a look at the action, and he inwardly cursed, pulling back. "C'mon, you have to get downstairs."

Half of the Avengers had taken off already when they got back to the living room. Steve made for the elevator where Tony, Pepper and Jane were waiting, but Darcy made a beeline for the table.

"I'm taking these, Stark, and don't say a damn word," Darcy announced as she picked up two board games that sat beneath the coffee table. Clue and Scrabble. She held them tightly to her chest and made her way back to the elevators, which finally opened. Steve dove inside, and Tony gave Darcy a glare, but the girl just growled, "The Blue Room is boring as _shit_ , Stark. Your girlfriend will thank me for this."

Speaking of girlfriends and boyfriends and relationship statuses... In her sleep-addled state she finally noticed that Clint had been waiting for her. He stepped closer to her, and without much thought, she met him halfway and kissed him. When he pulled back he smiled begrudgingly.

"Guess we'll have to hang out later, sweetheart," he said softly.

So many implications behind such a simple phrase, implications she had to admit she had been a bit nervous about earlier (but she will never admit to drinking more than she normally would because she was nervous about such implications). She hated herself for blushing in front so so many people, but managed to say back before the elevators closed on him, Tony and Steve, "Stay safe--all of you!!"

Tony simply winked and Steve smiled softly back.

She hated even more that he could smile so genuinely at her when she hated herself.

_._

_._

_._

_I stood right by the tracks, your face in a locket  
Good girls, hopeful they'll be and long they will wait_

_._

_._

_._

Okay, Darcy was a genius. Clue was the best thing the Blue Room could ever have. Everyone got in on it, and who knew Happy had such a poker face? It was impossible to call his bluffs, honestly.

It seemed like no time had passed by the time Phil showed up to escort them out, except he didn’t look so happy. The professional stare/smile was in full-force but something was wrong. Of course, this put the women of the room on-edge, and it didn’t matter if Colonel Mustard was in the conservatory with the cosmic cube or whatever.

"What happened?" Jane blurted out, her voice shaking already; without thinking, Darcy's hand shot out and grasps hers, getting a hard squeeze back. Jane was scared shitless.

Phil smiled, although it was still strained. "Everyone is alive and well, Miss Foster. We just... Have a situation." He turned, gesturing for everyone to move out. “You’re all free to go, but I’d appreciate if you, Miss Lewis and Miss Potts would follow me.”

The ladies all shared worried glances but eventually followed Phil. Dr. Selvig and Happy disappeared to who knows where; Phil was starting to lead the girls to the medical bay next door. Jane hadn’t let go of Darcy’s hand, and she imagined that she wouldn’t until she knew her Norse god was safe and sound.

He was the first person they saw, actually; his flowing red cape was hard to miss. The noise that left Jane’s mouth was not quite human but his godly hears picked it up, turning and sweeping her up into a hug. It became more obvious that he was doing it more for her benefit than a post-mission coping method because...

... well, a mission couldn’t have gone too badly when three Avengers were pissing themselves laughing.

Darcy  frowned, eyes wide as she stared at Iron Man, Hawkeye and Captain America sitting on hospital beds; the first two were giggling about something or other, and the Captain was swaying and couldn’t stop blinking. Meanwhile, the Black Widow, Thor and Bruce Baner were completely fine, standing nearby. Geeze, even Director Fury was in the room.

When Jane was let back to her feet, she stared at the boys, completely thrown off. She looked back up to her boyfriend for guidance. “What happened?”

Thor sighed, shaking his head while watching them cackle. “There was a maddened scientist in the subway tunnels beneath Grand Central Station; Brother Stark, Barton and Rogers went after him at an opportune moment, but the mad man sprayed something at them. They have not stopped for the past hour.”

Pepper looked worried and annoyed all at once, but nonetheless stepped up to Tony’s bedside, not that he had noticed. She eyed him curiously; this was a Tony she sort-of knew. This Tony usually drank a whole bottle of Scotch to get to this point, but that wasn’t the case right now.

“It’s got to be a sedative of some sorts,” Bruce interrupted, shrugging and shaking his head at the same time as well. Darcy couldn’t help thinking that Bruce and Thor looked less like they were pitying their teammates, and more like disappointed dads.

So she asked the obvious. “Why won’t they stop laughing?”

Bruce shrugged and shook his head at the same time. “It’s hard to say, but it’s practically a sedative.” He moved from his computer, picking up a vial of blood—probably a blood sample from one of the guys—and placing it in the chemical reader for analysis. His dark eyes scanned over the monitor, waiting for the results, and when they spat up he hummed thoughtfully. “Traces of ... rohypnol,” he blinked repeatedly at that one, shook his head and moved on. “Ethanol and amobarbitol... “

Darcy wrinkled her nose. Someone tried to _roofie_ the Avengers? The traced her hand over her mouth and chin for a second, trying to appear thoughtful when really she was covering a huge grin. This was not a laughing matter. Amobarbitol sounded familiar--

"You mean, like a truth serum?" Jane got to the conclusion first, still perplexed.

Bruce nodded. "When our friendly neighborhood subway scientist was making it, he must have used too much sedative compound. But there is definitely amobarbitol involved, which would explain a lot." Suddenly he had very exhausted eyes. "Some of the stuff these guys have said in the last hour-"

"--three guys, a donkey, and a slip n slide," Tony finished with a cackle, a cackle that Clint only mirrored.

Ho-ly crap on a cracker. Darcy eyed Clint nervously; they hadn’t seen each other drunk yet, which, as far as she was concerned, was a pretty important milestone in a relationship. You know how long you're going to last with a guy depending on what kind of drunk he is. Giggly, horny, grabby, aggressive, sleepy... it actually mattered quite a bit, if you think about it. So far, Clint just found Tony hilarious. Which may not be that bad now, but it could get—

"No, nonono, Stark, listen," Clint began setting the mood, slurring his words but commanding attention. "This one time, in Budapest--"

The intensity that Natasha slapped her hand over Clint's mouth made everyone jump, even the other pseudo drunks. Clint stared up at her with puppy-dog eyes, not sure what he had done wrong to deserve the death glare.

Natasha leaned in, fierceness rolling off her in waves, and hissed. "We. Never talk. About Budapest."

Jane actually reached for Darcy's hand again. Whoa.

Tony found this hilarious and started, lazily, slapping Clint's bicep. So Clint talked too much and Stark was his usual self when drunk: inappropriate and amused. That was when Darcy took a peek at the super soldier next to them.

Oh, poor Steve was not a good drunk. He kept swaying on his bed, unable to find his centre of balance. His eyes were out of focus; he spent most of the time blinking, trying to clear his vision but to no avail. For that, he kept his gaze on the plain white floor, avoiding looking around at the moving objects as that would only make him dizzier.  This wasn’t fair; he wasn’t supposed to get drunk. He was supposed to be immune to this torture.  

Darcy instantly felt for him; she had a few vague memories of being that far gone, and lived with the morning-after consequences. It's when you start wondering where the line had been crossed into "not a good time" ville, and all you want is a glass of water, food, and a bed.

"Honestly, though, they should be fine," Bruce reassured everyone. The printer spat out some new results and his eyes scanned them over quickly, before pulling his glasses off.  (Secretly? One of these days she wanted to catch Bruce pulling off his glasses when he made a scientific discovery; if he said "mother of god" simultaneously, her life would be made.) "There are low dosages of dopamine, but high endorphins. This last one," he tapped his pen against the results, "I need to test further once I isolate the drug in their blood samples... But everything else is naturally found in the body, or easily expelled through the system. Their bodies will balance out. Probably after a good nights sleep."

The raspberry that came from Tony's mouth was so comical—in sound and timing—that Darcy had to cover her own with her hand again. _Stop giggling when Director Fury is around. Stop giggling when Director Fury is around._

Indeed, Fury was not amused in the least by Tony’s antics.

"Schmeep, Shleep," Tony messed up the mocking. "I just want Pep.” He took a deep breath before he yelled. “ _PEPPY_ -OH here you are!" He swayed dangerously when he realized she had never left his side. As usual.

_God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. But please, one day, grant me the gift of Pepper Potts' patience. Please and thanks._

Pepper stared longingly at Bruce, who did his best to smile reassuringly. "Fluids and rest, Ms. Potts. He'll get over it eventually."

Natasha began to pull Clint to his feet. "You heard him. Up."

Instantly, the world-class archer pouted (he _pouted_ ). "I want Darce," he mumbled, using his free hand to make the grabby-hand motion at her.

A grown-ass man should not be that cute. Ever.

Darcy couldn’t help grinning but Fury wasn’t having it. He stepped forward, and the movement of his intimidating black trenchcoat gained Clint’s attention. Fury tilted his head down and said forcefully, "Can't have civilians around when you're a threat to international confidentiality agreements, Barton."

Clint pouted even more, his shoulders sagging. "Goodnight kiss, then?”

Oh god, what is her life.

"I wouldn't," Bruce cut in just as Darcy was blushing hard from embarrassment. Bruce shrugged apologetically. "The chemical was inhaled; it could transfer. I'm not sure, but I'd hold off."

Darcy smiled as sweetly as she could to her archer. "I'll make it up to you when you're better."

Slowly his pout turned into a grin—a full-blown, shit-eating grin, and god damn it, he was probably thinking about how he and her were supposed to ‘hang out’ tonight, and instead he was called to work. She had only been teasing but he was probably thinking about all the things ‘make it up to you’ could imply, and she only blushed further.

What’s worse is when she looked up, Fury was eyeing her, mouth pulled up. He was _amused._ “I didn’t realize you and Barton were an item, Miss Lewis.”

Darcy glared at him. Everybody in this building with their damn labels... “We’ve been on four dates. Four. No need for all the fuss.”

Fury only grunted, and it sounded like a laugh. “Well, let me know when you two become ‘Facebook Official’—there’s a whole ‘nother employee seminar on that topic.”

As Darcy contemplated how best to off herself with the items in the medical bay, Pepper had coaxed Tony to stand, but trying to get the suit to comply with his buzzed nervous system was too hard. He side-stepped and crashed into one rolling cart and was about to hit another before Thor scooped him up. While the billionaire whined in protest, Thor laughed and patted him from where he lay over the god’s shoulder. “Relax, Brother Stark—I’ll get you to bed.”

“Hold on a sec,” Pepper stepped up to Tony’s back—which was the same back as Thor’s—and after giving everyone an evil-eye (thus making everyone avert their gazes), flipped open a descreet numeric pad and punched in an override key. The suit instantly powered down; he hung more limply now. Pepper closed the pad and patted it fondly. “Just so he doesn’t accidentally fire a misile or something.”

While they began to wander off, Jane following after them, and Darcy only spent a second standing awkwardly wondering where to go before she noticed the suits step forward and reach for Steve. For some reason, completely unknown to her, she jumped. “I can do that.”

The way the suits stared at her small frame was downright degrading. Darcy glared at them. "C'mon, it's bad enough being drunk in front of your boss, but he hasn't been hammered in 70 years. He's probably miserable. It's better to have a friend to baby you in times like this."

Fury and Phil shared a look. “You keep surprising me, Lewis,” Fury started. “I didn’t realize you and Rogers were close, either.”

Darcy tried her best to brush it off. “Yeah, yeah, we have movie nights at his place on Tuesdays.” She stepped up to Steve, who jumped a bit when she finally came into focus, and then he just stared, long and hard at her. Darcy grasped his arm, coaxing him up to his feet. “Don’t worry, Director, your Star Spangled Man with a Plan will make it to his bed.”

_._

_._

_._

_In dreams I meet you in warm conversation_  
We both wake in lonely beds different cities  
And time is taking its sweet time erasing you  
And you've got your demons, and, darling, they all look like me

_._

_._

_._

Darcy wasn’t sure what to expect with Steve’s living arrangements—contradictory to the lie she told earlier, she had never been to his place; every movie night has happened at Tony’s—but it actually suited her impression of the captain perfectly.

For some reason he didn’t have that ‘shared living space’ that she knew Thor, Clint and Natasha had a few floors down. Maybe Tony planned that; maybe Tony anticipated that Steve would want time to himself, and not be forced to interact when he just wanted to be alone.

The apartment was pretty bare, but there were a few touches that gave it an old feeling; and not ‘old’ as in ‘ _that pattern is so 1987 ugh why haven’t you updated it’_ old, but the kind of old she felt when she visited her grandmother. Black and white photos in simple frames, classic furniture, a wing-back chair by a fireplace that doesn’t look like it’s been used for a while. Some may think being reminded of their grandmother’s housing as a turn-off, but really, she only felt more comfortable. Which was saying a lot, considering the 220 lb man slung over her shoulder.

“Okeydoke, Cap,” she grunted, very ladylike indeed.  She had tucked herself under his arm, and it became obvious that rather than him leaning on her, the most she could help with was at least steering him the right direction. Let’s face it, if he goes down, he’s taking her with him—thankfully it hasn’t reached that point yet, though they’ve had a few close calls, like when he stumbled through his front door just now. Darcy braced herself, trying to right him before he fell on his face. Once he seemed stable, she managed to kick the door shut behind and glanced around. Couch was closest. “Almost there,” she told him, hoping the subtle encouragement would keep him going before he falls over.

She doesn’t know where his bed is and isn’t entirely sure she could get him there before he passed out—or, maybe not. This apartment may be a ‘1 bedroom’ but everything was open concept, and with the bed being _right there_ around the corner.... It was too close to ignore.

She sighed, heaved him up again and turned them around. “Okay, _now_ we’re almost there,” she grumbled.

“... ss... sorry, darss,” Steve mumbles, his slurring dragging out her ‘c.’

She smiled as politely as she could. She knew she was doing the right thing, but she really had been regretting it since they had to hop on the elevator. This was such a dumb idea. She was sure there were some MIB that could’ve handled him, but she had done it because he was her friend, and friends were much more sympathetic than authority figures after having one too many drinks on a night out.

Not that this was Steve’s case—fighting a bio-terrorist threat in the bowels of Grand Central Station, only to be blasted in the face with gas that makes the user incoherent, slurring, and well, _intoxicated_ , was not a fun night out—but the point was the same.

“N-No worries, buddy,” she grunted out, all while aiming his behind towards his bed. Once satisfied she let go and pressed gently on his chest, sending the poor boy head over heels onto the spring mattress. It squeaked beneath his weight but he sighed into the covers, content to relax.

For a moment, while she caught her breath and exaggeratedly stretched the muscles that ached from helping him walk, she looked him over. She knew he wasn’t asleep—no one else appeared very sleepy. She hoped the guys would get the opportunity to ‘sleep it off’ because really, that’s the best relief after too many drinks, but it didn’t seem like any of the guys were falling asleep anytime soon.

Bio-terrorists were merciless bastards.

But he looked very peaceful. It was a very welcome look for all the hours he spends scowling or wearing his Captain face; this expression was a close second after her favorite (his smile, of course).

Realizing she was ogling, which wasn’t helping the whole _I declare my crush over_ plan, she turned, pivoting on her feet, staring around the apartment. Steve lived in a box: four walls, entry into each little space, but that was it. And it was kind of depressing.

“I’ll make you some food,” she announced. “If you dip out to sleep, you can heat it up later. Sound good?”

She was already on her way into the kitchen by the time a sound of affirmation came from the pillows. Steve’s kitchen was small but his fridge was packed. “Christ, I know you need calories to keep up the muscles, but this...,” she trailed off, caving in and deciding one of her famous home-made breakfast sandwiches would be best. Soon the fryer was on and she was cooking up some eggs—two, when she realized she was hungry as well—and some bacon and the toast was in the toaster.

During this quiet moment of domesticity, she heard a small _thunk_. She leaned back, trying to catch a glimpse towards the bedroom, but can only see the end of the bed and Steve’s feet hanging from the edge. One foot was now socked, the boot on the floor, and she sees him toeing the other off.

The sight made her giggle and she called out, teasing, before she could stop herself, “Rough day at work, baby?”

There’s a little groan of affirmation before a quiet, “ _verry roughff day_ ” comes back, and she smiled, and looked back to the fry pan.

This would almost be... what it could be like.

_I declare my crush over, I declare my crush over—_

The sandwiches were made and ready to go, set on separate plates. She carried them both in, aiming for his nightstand that she had seen earlier, to set them down. Steve still looked peaceful, but not slumbering. “Alright, Cap, sit up.”

His brows knit tight, and a low hum came from his throat. He obviously didn’t want to move.

Darcy pouted. “You may not be drunk, Cap, but you’re totally a sloppy drunk.”

A strange thought entered her brain: if she had offered to look after Clint, who was in much the same situation as Steve was at this moment, he’d be groping her, trying to sneak in kisses, push things to something more. Is that why she stepped up to help Steve? Because she had only been on four dates with Barton and while she was confused, things _had_ been going well and if she had babysat him tonight, she would have found a reason to dump him?

Because that’s what she usually did—when something was going well she would find a way to mess it up. Much like she’s spent the last two days doing... and finding nothing wrong. Except for herself, actually.

So bless Steve and his pouting and sloppiness, but he needed to sit the hell up.

She sighed and put her hands on his shoulders. “You don’t have to get off the bed—just scoot up so you can eat.” After another protesting groan she pushed his shoulders up. “ _C’mon_ , move your butt.”

Steve eventually caved (with a _huge_ sigh) and pressed his hands against the mattress, pushing himself up the bed towards the headboard. Darcy tried to help, arranging his pillows, reaching over him to get her arm under his and help him slide up as it was becoming more and more obvious that he was too weak to move (which says a LOT for Captain America) and she was bent over him quite a bit at this point. She felt her chest brush down against his and hated herself for flushing, and even more so for daring a glance at Steve to see if he had any reaction from the awkward touch, and it turns out he’s really, _really_ noticed it, and he’s stopped sliding up the bed, half propped up, to stare at her lips, pupils shifting from the drug but focus entirely on her mouth. It made her so self-conscious that she sucks her bottom lip in, and then Steve exhales and his hands are in her hair, pulling her gently to him so he can kiss her.

Darcy can’t think right now.  Please leave a message and she may get back to you.

After a long five-seconds of mouths pressed firmly—Steve’s more than Darcy’s, she can barely contain her shock so she gets more than she can give right now—the fingers in her hair tighten, cupping the back of her neck and pull her back a fraction. Darcy gasps a breath out, eyes wide, staring at him like this _could not be happening._

For once Steve isn’t flushed, or panicked, or looking like he’s so worried about crossing some social boundary. For once...

Steve looks calmer than he’s ever looked since she’s known him.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you so badly,” Steve mutters, his voice low and heady, just as his other hand reached up and stroked her face, thumb pulling at her bottom lip. His eyes are locked to her lip, brow furrowed with fascination. “You taste so sweet...”

All this coming from the guy who she’s been telling herself would not like her _like that._

Darcy’s hands start shaking. Not from fear, not from joy, not from guilt—just pure, all encompassing shock. She gapes at Steve, unable to form the words, and partly worried that moving her lips would make his hands go away.

But he doesn’t seem to want to let go. After a moment, he pulls her head closer again and they kiss, with more participation from Miss Lewis this time. When he captures her bottom lip between his, she whimpers because she _feels_ it, all the way down to _there_ , and is distracted long enough for the hand at her neck to slide down her back. His fingers are wide and cover the span of her, pushing her hips down onto him, wanting her closer. After a slightly awkward shift of pressure Darcy fell onto Steve—quite literally on him—her legs kicking up from the floor.  Steve keeps his arm wrapped around her and rolls them, pressing her into the mattress with his warm weight. They could feel each other’s shallow breathing when they’re pressed this close, and he could feel her hip and thigh when the hand he rolled her with slides down her side, thumb circling patterns through her clothes.

All while kissing, nipping, tasting and teasing his way into her mouth.

There is no way Steve Rogers is a virgin, no matter how many jokes Tony makes. Because a virgin doesn’t know all the right places to touch and how to kiss and how to make a girl moan so easily.

The shock’s started to wear off and now all Darcy feels is overwhelmed. She hadn’t had the lovely pressure of a guy on top of her in a _long time_ and the tingles it sent through her system were very distracting. On top of it she couldn’t believe that the Cap was such a good kisser—I mean, fuck, didn’t he make a comment during one stupid Avengers drinking game that he’d only kissed a handful of girls in his lifetime? None of them girlfriends, even? But the soft, sensual press of his mouth was more arousing than any hot and heated kiss she’d experience; other guys are so eager to get the ‘foreplay’ part over with that they ended up cracking teeth together. Steve was camped out at her mouth and not about to move before he’s had his fill.

The fangirl in her brain, however, saw that her defenses were down and decided to make a grand entrance. And oh, was it a doozy, considering Darcy had shut it up three weeks ago after making her big decision.

_OH. MY. GOD. Captain America is kissing me. ME! Those lips are so soft—UNF—dear God, when he nips my lip like that—_

_Wait, what did he say before?_ I’ve wanted to kiss you so badly? _The_ hell _does that mean?! DOES THE CAP LIKE ME. I cannot HANDLE all of these FEELS I’m FEELING right now—_

 _What the hell did that mean, anyway_? Her logical brain had finally woken up after fainting earlier. _Either way... it shouldn’t mean anything. Because I’m not exactly single right now_.

She hated to admit it, but it was right.

Suddenly all the warmth shrivelled up and weighed on her, sickly, in her stomach, cold and dead.

She was a horrible person.

As Steve’s lazy lips dropped down off her mouth, trailing down her neck to kiss at her throat, she realized she had to stop him. And when he suddenly pressed his tongue flat and licked, she realized it had to be _now_ because if she didn’t, she certainly won’t be saying ‘no’ ever again for the rest of her life.

“Steve,” she said, much more loudly than needed.

But it did the trick. The captain wasn’t mouthing her neck any longer.

“Steve, we need to stop.”

There was a very awkward pause, both of them breathing, catching the oxygen they’d missed these last few minutes.  Without the slow-burning warmth of mutual desire, the pressure of his body was .... stifling.

And with a sudden push he rolled away. “Mmkay,” came from his lips in a mumbled, tired huff. He fell to his back, peaceful face again, as if it hadn’t happened.

Shell-shocked, Darcy sat up, staring down at Steve. He was asleep. Just like that. And here she was, hot and bothered and shocked and so not functioning.

So, like a drunk, would he even remember what he had done? What _they_ had done?

She could. And she would probably spend the rest of her twenties, if not forever, remembering that one time she cheated.

_._

_._

_._

_We had a beautiful magic love there  
What a sad beautiful tragic love affair_

_._

_._

_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haaaaa you all hate me now right? Apologies. Like I said, the 'thing that happens' existed way before the Nerf War ever did. 
> 
> Story will be wrapping up soon, hopefully only two or three more chapters. Thanks for reading! :)


	7. The Story of Us (Pt. I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Story of Us (Pt. I)
> 
> In which everyone speculates and contemplates and wonders and Bruce seems to be the only one who minds his own business.

Sometime during their night sleeping together, Clint and Darcy had swapped places. When he blinked his eyes open he found a mouth full of her hair and her curled up against his side, arm slung across his waist while she slept away on his shoulder. Even though it had been far too long since he’s shared a bed, his body had reacted according and held her close, tightly, even in his sleep. Someone had come to him and apparently, he didn’t want to let that go. 

Sometimes he wished he could sleep in, like the regular folk do. The life of a secret agent doesn’t allow for lazy Sunday mornings. Years of training made it so he would wake at 5:30am every god damn day, even if he was on S.H.I.E.L.D.-enforced vacation, and that’s exactly what was happening now.

But damn, that morning Clint really wished he could sleep in. Slowly, carefully, he brushed her hair back from his mouth—not that it was annoying. It smelt really, _really_ good, actually—and then he couldn’t stop stroking the soft brown curls. He couldn’t stop revelling in how soft she felt, too, pressed against his side. He couldn’t stop his face tilting down into her hair to take a deep breath of her. He couldn’t stop the smile that creeped across his face. 

He _wished_ he could shut off her cursed phone so that annoying alarm wouldn’t be ruining the moment.

The girl in his arms shifted at the noise, and in less than a second she had gone from limp and groggy to springing from the bed and dashing for her phone once she realized what the noise was. She cursed repeatedly, whispering—as if her being quiet would make up for the loud racket of her _Super Bass_ ringtone—as she dug through her purse. Once she finally found the infernal phone and turned her alarm off, she breathed a heavy sigh, shoulders relaxing. She shrugged them instantly, rolling them back—jumping from a catatonic state to full-alert mode had to have pulled a muscle somewhere. Finally, she brushed her hair back and looked over her shoulder at him to see if he’d woken up. 

What, like he could sleep through her shaking the mattress with her bouncing, throwing the covers half off him and cursing in the morning quiet? Oh, yeah, totally.

Darcy pursed her lips when she noticed him blinking at her. “Sorry,” she mumbled. 

Clint didn’t move immediately—the view of her with her sleep-mussed hair was too good to ruin by getting up. He did manage a smile, though. “S’okay,” he reassured her. “I was getting up anyway.”

Seeing he wasn’t perturbed, Darcy sighed, pulling lazily at her sweater and getting to her feet. “I have to go home and change clothes before work,” she mumbled again, just a tad perkier, ultimately explaining the early-morning alarm. 

Clint strongly disagreed. “You look fine.”

Once her head was through the sweater she glared at him, looking a bit more awake now, even if her hair was flying about from the static of her clothes. “I work for Phil Coulson and Tony Stark. There is _no way_ I’m letting them catch me in yesterdays clothes... can’t deal with that kind of judgement this early... And they wouldn’t even have to say anything!” She held her hands out dramatically when this realization hit her. “They would just _stare._ And Tony would _smirk._ And if he smirks, I _may_ kill him.”

Clint couldn’t help chuckling at that and sat up on the bed, leaning against the headboard as Darcy finished pulling on her shoes. He was content with watching her for now. She kept glancing over at him, nervously, shyly, and as he wondered what on earth she could be so nervous about, he realized he should be in the same boat: it had been far too long since he’s shared a bed, but every other time he had, there had been sex. There had been morning-after sex. If the girl was nervous or remorseful in the morning, he’d lay on the charm and she would be thoroughly _reminded_ why she had gotten into bed with this man the night before. 

But this was different. This was weird. But a good kind of weird.

Did that make sense? 

Her bag was slung across her shoulders and her hand was on the knob before Darcy looked back at him one more time, and that’s when he broke down, laughing softly and shaking his head. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I get it.”

Darcy’s frown turned to a full grimace and she sagged against the door, as if the last two minutes pretending to be calm and composed and ‘cool’ had drained all of her energy. “I just... I feel like I’m trying to sneak out. Which is stupid, because we didn’t even—“ 

Clint cut her off when he huffed, climbed out of bed and went to her, feet padding softly along the carpet. The sight of his sweatpants hanging off his hips, and his teeshirt having crawled up in his sleep, revealing the taut, hard, ‘v’ shape of his muscles against his hips _completely_ shut her up.  

When he reached her, she had her lips pressed together in a firm line, a line he loosened when he cupped her face and kissed her sweetly.

“Thank you for staying,” he said softly when they broke apart—when he began to pull back, her hand lifted to hold his wrist, trying to keep him there longer. He smiled in response and kissed her nose. “I mean it. And I get that you want to go home and change.” He pulled back and tugged the door open, gesturing her out. “It’s fine. Go. I’ll see you later.” He tried to lighten the mood by giving her a playful pat on her bottom.

It worked, as Darcy jumped and suppressed a squeak as she moved out the door. The look she gave him over her shoulder had a hint of a smile—mission accomplished. He leaned against the doorjam a moment longer, as she pressed the button for the elevator. The frown from earlier was gone—now she was trying to suppress a full, ear-to-ear grin, and he could tell. Her cheeks kept pulling at her mouth, urging her to smile, and it was adorable to watch, until she waved him away.

It was a ‘mission accomplished’ kind of morning for her, too. She hadn’t expected him to smile when he woke up. Frankly, that was all she wanted out of this evening. He was back to his normal self. Pride swelled in her chest as the elevator doors opened, and she stepped inside, spinning on her heel to face forward and press the ‘down’ button--

\--but not until she caught the gaze of Natasha from the kitchen in the corner, half-way through making a cup of coffee, frozen in the motion before pouring her sugar to stare at Darcy the moment she came from Clint’s room.

The pride was swiftly kicked in the gut by embarrassment and shame and Darcy could _not_ click the ‘down’ button hard or fast enough.

 

_._

_._

_._

_The Scientists  
_

_._

_._

_._

The lab was either pin-drop quiet or unbearably loud. There was no happy medium. Everyone would be so focused on their individual experiments that words weren’t traded unless absolutely necessary (and sometimes they weren’t words, either—sometimes it was just a grunt or a whine). Or sometimes, if Tony beat them to the lab, the AC/DC would be blaring so loudly that the windows vibrated from the noise. If Jane and Bruce were there before Tony arrived, the billionaire respected the space. But first-come-first-serve was the unspoken rule when it came to the airwaves.

Today’s airwaves were filled with gossip.

Yeah, Jane didn’t get it either.

She didn’t contribute much to it, but she listened to the, as Darcy put it, ‘Science Bros’ geek out over the results of the drunk-gas from the night before. They discussed all the variables until they were blue in the face, and yet when Banner came back after reporting to Phil, Tony still wanted to chat. What could have changed during the walk? Honestly? But she just rolled her eyes and kept adjusting her equipment for her latest experiment.

“What did Mom say?” Tony asked, looking up from his tinkering with the Iron Man suit.

Banner shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. “Nothing much—since there wasn’t any backlash from the gas, it’s business as usual.”

Jane thought they might finally get some quiet as Tony nodded thoughtfully, but then he opened his mouth. “Was I really that handsy last night?”

“Christ, yes,” Jane muttered loudly enough to be heard. When she looked up both scientists were looking her way. She set her soldering gun down she glared at Tony. “Even when Thor finally got you in place for JARVIS to take your suit off, you tried to kiss him.”

Bruce’s mouth twisted until he pressed his lips into a hard line, because all he wanted to do was grin from ear to ear and was trying to save Tony some face. It was too late, though—Tony noticed the grimace and glared at Jane. “I did not!”

Jane glared right back. “You asked him to give you his hammer the way he does to me!”

Now Bruce had to turn around and pace for a second with his hands covering his mouth to keep control. Why, why did he stay in the medical ward so late? The things he missed sometimes.

On the other hand, Tony’s glare fell from his face and he stared wide-eyed at Jane. The astrophysicist stared right back, daring him to make another remark. She had come so close to slapping him last night but Thor restrained her and decided it was time the Man of Iron was left to his lady love. Still, right mind or not, Tony had some nerve.

After a moment of stunned silence, Tony cleared his throat and held a hand up, feigning defense. “I,” he started, softly, quietly, “am very sorry for involving you in a his-hammer-is-his-penis innuendo. I’m sure,” he stopped, voice catching his throat. “I’m sure that Thor is a very gentle and respectful lover.”

Jane simply narrowed her eyes and went back to work without another word (although a plot was forming in her mind to hack into JARVIS for some embarrassing video footage to broadcast in the cafeteria).

“You really don’t remember doing _any_ of that?” Bruce asked him once he got control of himself.

Tony shrugged, grimacing again. “No, I _really_ don’t, and c’mon, I can’t have been the only one being an ass!”

“I tried asking Natasha how it was dealing with Clint,” Bruce replied, his voice becoming a bit strained. “All she said was she figured it was better to knock him out, the rate he was going.”

“Yikes,” Tony muttered, wincing for the poor guy. That only left... “What did Darcy say?”

“Couldn’t tell ya,” Bruce took his seat at his desk. “She wasn’t at her desk when I got there. Phil said she called in sick this morning.”

Now _that_ made Jane stop in her tracks. What?

Tony hummed at that. “I don’t think that kid has ever missed a day.”

Bruce shrugged. “You may be right. I wouldn’t know.”

Oh, but Jane knew. Jane knew Darcy never missed a day of work. Her work ethic was too strong. She lived to cross off items on her to-do list, and she’s never been more productive than she has since she started at S.H.I.E.L.D. As much as she may protest and claim she hated the establishment, Darcy’s day ran like clockwork. She’d sit in on Phil’s meeting-of-the-morning (there was always a meeting of the morning about whatever the Avengers accidentally blew up yesterday), she’d file the reports, she’d go the lunch, she’d come by the lab after lunch to hunt down Stark for his reports/remind the scientists to eat. The only time she skipped work was when her sister gave birth and almost died in the hospital two years ago, and she couldn’t even afford to visit her, but she was such a mess that she couldn’t get out of bed. Jane sat with her for three days straight and set up the surprise Skype call once her sister was well enough.

If Darcy was at home, something was very, very wrong.

In spite of Jane’s worry, Tony kept pestering. Did he even want to work today or was he just bored and lonely? He fiddled with his pen, biting the end momentarily, curiosity slowly getting the better of him, until he finally ventured, “Do you think, considering the other... test-subjects,” he used the term with a fairly filthy tone, “that our All-American boy scout may have... put the moves on Coulson Jr.?”

Bruce frowned, wrinkling his nose and gazing back up at Tony. “Seriously?”

“What’s the ‘seriously’ for? The Coulson Jr. remark or the suggestion?”

“A bit of both, actually.”

“C’mon,” Tony argued, “it’s perfectly plausible. I was horny—and a tad homo-erotic,” Tony threw Jane a glance to at least acknowledge that it happened, but she kept glaring at him, “Clint maybe tried to grab Natasha’s boob so she knocked him out cold... Steve could’ve tried some old-timey romance on Darce.”

“Okay, first of all,” Bruce began, his eyes dead-serious, “I _never_ want the details of what Clint did to Natasha. Ever. And I never want Natasha to _ever_ assume I want to hear them. Understood?”

“Noted.”

“Secondly,” Bruce shrugged. “I don’t know—Steve’s system works through things differently. It’s why he can’t get drunk. The aphrodisiac components of the gas may not have affected him at all.”

“Or he may have raised that Star Spangled Banner to full-mast.”

When the astrophysicist sped past them both, pulling her jacket on while she left the room in a hurry, Tony and Bruce stared after her, completely confused before looking back at each other.

“In my defense? I’ve said _much_ worse.”

“... I know.”

 

_._

_._

_._

_The Widow  
_

_._

_._

_.  
_

Natasha was an observer. We’ve been over this already.

Sometimes she hated it, to be honest. She wished she could stop doing it once in a while; sometimes she didn’t need to see everything. Sometimes she didn’t need to take in that pained expression or that sneer or that leering look.

She didn’t need to see all the action Darcy’s office got today without Darcy being present.

Clint stopped by twice. The first time he ducked his head in, coffee in hands (obviously a present for the assistant) but looked lost when he found the empty cubicle. He looked around at her desk, peeked over her walls into Phil’s glass office but couldn’t see her. He left the coffee without another thought.

The second time he came by, Natasha knew that he would realize the coffee hadn’t moved and was now ice cold. He tossed it in the trash and lingered a few minutes before leaving a Post-it note on her computer.

Clint’s writing had always been big so she read it easy.

_Dinner tonight?_

But Darcy had another repeat customer today. He would walk down the hall towards her cubicle, and his steps would always slow before he actually reached her space. Wringing his hands, taking a few calming breathes—he was nervous. Alarmingly so. It almost took a minute for him to muster the courage to go inside, and it would all be for nought when he turned the corner and found the cubicle empty. The smile (big and too much, if you ask Natasha) would fall from his face quickly. He never lingered long—there was no way he’d be caught in there, waiting for her, just for someone to come along and find him. No, unlike Clint, there was a _lot_ of thought going into these office visits.

But by the third time, Natasha had to step in.

Just as he was backing out and turning around simultaneously, Natasha walked up the hallway and her sudden presence made Steve jump. She simply smiled politely. “Captain.”

He blushed up to his ears but smiled back. “Just looking for Phil—“ he jutted his thumb over his shoulder, and good boy figuring out an alibi, as Phil’s office _was_ empty. It also made the next part easier to go through for Natasha.

“He’s in a meeting with Director Fury,” she told him. “And Darcy called in sick this morning.”

Steve’s eyes were the most reflective part of him. In a few seconds, which were just a tad too long to be comfortable, there was a flicker of guilt, worry and surprise. These were typical signs of someone getting caught. Then his mouth opened briefly, about to form the words, about to deny, but again the eyes spoke. He remembered who he was talking to.

Instead, he bit his lips together for a second, averted his eyes, and mumbled, “Thanks. He was gone without another word from her.

She found Clint back in the cafeteria line. “Are you busy tonight?”

Clint stared at her, then at the room and back at her, quite accusingly. Natasha was _never_ in the cafeteria. Too many Stark employees. In all fairness, Clint was supposed to keep a low-profile too, but this is probably the first time she had ever ventured to Stark floors. When she simply glared back at him, he let it drop and replied. “Um, I was hoping to see Darcy tonight.”

Yeah, I know you were. “She called in sick this morning.”

This surprised him. “Really? Oh. Um... I guess not, then.”

“We should hang out.”

Instead of confusing, he looked worried and dumbfounded. Who the hell was this and where was Natasha? “Hang... Out.”

Natasha frowned at him. “Yes, asshole. Hang out. Friends do that.”

The opportunity was there for Clint to make a douche comment liked _we’re friends?_ but he left it alone because, frankly, Natasha has never referred to their relationship as a friendship. Partners, colleagues, teammates, everything but. There were times where he wished he could joke around with her like a friend but she was always the one who kept the wall up, made sure they had some boundaries. Rather than tease about this admission, he... welcomed it. And now she wanted to hang out?

He tried to act calm and cool, turning back to the lunch line to grab a protein drink. “What did you have in mind?”

“Stark has a firepit on the roof. Maybe get a few beers and watch?”

Clint laughed. “Beers and high places—you know me too well.”

Oh, she knew alright. Except, the more she reminded herself of that, she less she believed it.

 

_._

_._

_._

_._

_Billionaire & Philanthropist  
_

 

 

_._

_._

_._

The Howard Stark Memorial room was one large open-concept space on the tenth floor of Stark Tower, housing bronze replications of his accomplishments and old-timey photographs-turned-wallpaper of the early days of Stark Industries. The curving east wall was floor-to-ceiling glass and the view above Manhattan’s streets was incredible. Come night, it was even better, and hopefully the pretty twinkle lights of NYC would inspire tonight’s party-goers to be in the giving spirit so they’d empty their wallets.

Pepper was in the middle of a conversation with the caterer, discussing some menu changes while event-planner peons ran around unfolding cocktail tables and righting centerpieces and placing silver Christmas trees all over the room. It had taken two months to plan this and while everyone _was_ running around, everything was going to plan. Except for one thing, which unfortunately involved dragging a certain billionaire away from his toys.

“What’s this for again?” Tony asked when he reached his girlfriend.

Pepper turned from the caterer, smiled, and kissing him in greeting. By the state of his clothes—old, rock-band related and covered in grease—she could only assume he was in the middle of some whacky experiment with Dr. Banner. “The Children’s Hospital. It kicks off their Christmas toy drive.” She held up the iPad in her hands. “Sign for the extra catering costs.”

To most people, the words ‘extra costs’ would make people frown and argue, but Tony was turning over a new leaf—had been since he came back from Afghanistan. No more weapon, it’s all about saving people and it’s for the greater good, yadda, yadda... and in spite of the yadda-yaddas, he did feel pride in his philanthropic efforts. But he was never prouder than whenever Pepper organized an event flawlessly. That’s what made him happiest.

And usually, a happy Pepper coincided with the ‘for the greater good’ thing. So he signed for the catering costs.

Pepper took the iPad back with a smile while Tony sneered at the decorations. “ _Silver_ trees? Isn’t that blasphemous, or something?

“Silver and Gold are the themes of the campaign this year, Tony,” she explained. “Everything’s almost ready, except for the gift bags.” She sighed, looking up from her iPad and around the room. “God, _I_ may be filling gift bags. I was kind of hoping to steal Darcy for that....”

Tony perked up a tad at the girls name but tried to appear disinterested. “Really.”

“Yeah,” Pepper sighed and looked back to her iPad, opening her checklist and working through it. “Phil said she called in sick.” When he didn’t reply right away she looked up at him and noticed his horrible-hidden excitement, and she couldn’t fathom why. “...Do you want to send her flowers, or something?”

Tony started that that. “What? No, listen,” and he turned to her and slid his hands around her waist—and she gave him that _look_ that _dared_ him to get engine grease on her dress, so he clasped his hands loosely behind her and took care. She raised a brow at him before he kept talking. “I don’t think Darcy’s sick.”

Pepper just stared and spoke deadpan, “Do you want Happy to go to her place and check her temperature?”

“I am _suggesting,_ if you’ll give me a chance, that Darcy may not be feeling ill because of an ailment,” he began to lower his voice. “I’m suggesting that Darcy may be avoiding work because _something happened last night._ ”

Now _that_ had Pepper even more confused. “What? Wait—“ she cut him off before he could elaborate, because the wheels were turning and suddenly she was thinking the same thing _he_ was thinking. “No. Steve?” But Tony just nodded and Pepper’s eyes widened and she moaned with protested.

See, one of the best kept secrets in the whole tower (between Stark and S.H.I.E.L.D.) was that Pepper and Tony really, _really_ wanted Darcy and Steve to figure things out, get over their shyness and be together. It was almost an unhealthy obsession. Pepper knew Darcy could use some of Cap’s sweet, old-fashioned romance and Tony knew Darcy ws the right kind of inappropriate that the Cap needed.

Of course, when Clint and Darcy began to spend time together, Pep and Tony kept their mouths shut, respectively (well, Tony shut up as much as he could). They never pressed the matter (even though it surprised the hell out of them both—hence Pepper’s interrogation back in the Blue Room last week). It wasn’t their place to interfere in _anybody’s_ relationships, and it was childish to think so.

But that didn’t mean they didn’t gossip like high-school girls about it.

Pepper was borderline hyperventilating. “What... what do you think he did?”

“See, that’s the hard part,” Tony grimaced, humming and hawing over the answer. “Banner thinks his politeness would win out and he could have just gave her a kiss on the cheek. _I_ think he well full-on soldier-on-leave and jumped the girl.”

“Oh _god,_ I hope it isn’t that—wait, _Banner?_ ”

“Purely scientific speculation regarding the effects of the drugs,” Tony insisted, trying to calm her down, “especially considering my behavior and Clints.”

Pepper gave him a look and shook her head. “I hope it wasn’t something horrible... Steve wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Unless... he doesn’t remember anything either, right?”

“That’s what he said in his debrief this morning.”

Pepper pressed her forehead against Tony’s, sighing, and he closed his eyes as they took a deep breath together, trying to get a moment of calm.

“Do you think... well,” Pepper whispered, “you remember what I said about Darcy before, how nervous she’s been with Clint?”

“Yeah?”

Pepper bit her lip. “If something did happen... no matter what extreme it is, and whether Steve remembers or not... Darcy has to be so lost right now. Poor girl.”

 

.

.

.

_The Girl in Question_

.

.

.

Darcy wasn’t lost.

She knew exactly where she was.

Here’s the who-what-where-when-and-how of it: her, in pajamas with her reheated leftovers, on her futon in her tiny apartment, from the moment she woke up till now.

Fuck, what time was it?

“Uggggh,” she groaned when she caught sight of her clock. Noon already and she hadn’t even got out of bed. In her own defense, she slept on her futon. A futon was the only sleeping-sized piece of furniture that could fit in her place. Her defense was weak, though, and she knew it.

She was pathetic.

She tossed her fork into her empty Chinese food box and set it on the table, sighing and staring at the television. After calling in ‘sick’ this morning, the TV was flicked on as background noise to keep her mind off things, but she hadn’t focused much on it all day. She was too busy drifting out, remembering things.

Remembering a touch, or a kiss, or a date, or a smile. Remembering how a month ago she had dreamed about feeling that strong hand slide around her waist and hold her close. Remembering how much she had (unashamedly) stared at that big bottom lip of his and wondering if it was as soft as it seemed. Remembering the moment when she realized the crush came along partly because he was on a pedestal, not put there by her, but by everyone, and she realized she wasn’t exactly of the same standing to join him there. Remembering when she decided it was for the best.

Remembering the first time he stared at her that way, and the way she instantly felt wanted by him. Remembering when she realized how attractive he was, in a dangerous, edgy way, even though he’s never had her feel more safe. Even if it was just a hand on her hip while they walked, she knew nothing would harm her in those arms. Remembering the look he gave her the night she cleaned him, tried to fix him, hoping he may smile again, and discovering it at worked. That first smile the morning spoke it all. They were so close to becoming something deeper, if she wanted it, and she had been pretty sure she wanted it, and then....

And then he had to go and say it.

_I’ve wanted to kiss you so badly..._

Darcy leaned her elbow on the back of the futon, reaching up and rubbing her temples as she sighed, shakily. Tears threatened to spill and she knew she was in the privacy of her own home, but she didn’t want to resort to that. She wanted to know there was a way out. She wanted to know there was a way to fix this without losing everything.

Maybe she could talk Tony into making that time-travelling Delorean that they were joking about last week...

A key jiggled in the lock of her front door and it make her start, sit up and stare. Before she could remember where she kept her taser or even make a move to grab it, the door swung open and her old boss strutted in, slamming the door behind her.

Darcy stared in awe as Jane stepped up to the futon, staring her dead in the eye and pointing a finger at her.

“100% honesty, right now,” she spoke with authority—and since she caught Darcy by surprise, she had all her undivided attention—and was not kidding around. “Did someone die?”

Darcy at least didn’t have the balls to laugh at her. She simply shook her head.

“Alright then.” Jane fell onto the futon beside her, purse in her lap. Fom it, she pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels and two pints of Cherry Garcia out, and while this all seemed unbelievably strange and out of character, before Darcy could even ask a single question (like what was she doing here in the middle of a work day?), the most disturbing thing of all came from Janes mouth.

“So it’s just that Steve’s in love with you.”

Darcy gaped like a fish before losing her marbles. “... _what?!_ ”

Jane didn’t even look at her, but she _did_ grimace at the television set. “And _Something Borrowed_ is the _last_ thing you should be watching in your situation—not just because it’s a horrible movie, either.” She picked up the remote, left on the coffee table, and switched the channel. “Not that John Krasinski wasn’t enjoyable. He’s the only watchable part of it.”

“Wha,” Darcy flustered, staring at the television—sheesh, she really didn’t know what she was been watching—and back to Jane, sitting up straighter, trying to get her bearings after this bombshell went off. “Wai... What are you doing here?!”

“It’s simple,” Jane stated, using her science voice. As she spoke, she leaned over, reaching beneath the coffee table and producing two od Darcy’s souvenir shot glasses from her collection below. They clanked when they hit the table. “First of all,” and Jane gave Darcy a look, “you gave me an apartment key when we first moved here because you were so nervous about being locked out in the big city. So stop looking at me like that.”

... damn it, she was right.

“Secondly,” Jane paused to pull the cap from the Jack. “Word is that those who were gassed last night were unbelievably gropey and peevish—and that’s a theory I’m willing to believe, after Tony’s behavior.” Darcy was worried when she saw a vein in Jane’s forehead twitch. “Banner’s report states that Clint was very handsy, as well; of course, it’s also on the record that Natasha beat him unconscious early on. But there’s one part of the theory that I disagree with, and that is that Steve,” she paused deliberately over hsi name, casting a glance at Darcy before pouring their shots, just to see her flinch, “is such an All American Boy Scout that he would _NEVER_ do anything untoward, not to Darcy.”

Darcy may be wide-eyed and serious at the moment, but that alone gave everything away.

Jane smiled sympathetically and tilted her head. “Yeah, I thought so.” She held the shot up to Darcy, willing her to take it. “What did he do?”

All her hard work at being discreet and subtle had gone to waste, then, and of all things to feel, Darcy’s pride hurt the most. She gaped, and started four different sentences before sputtering, “Whaddya mean, Steve’s in love with me?!”

Except the sputter choked. Her throat closed. The tears from earlier made their grand entrance, streaming easily down her face. Darcy shut her eyes tight, trying to stop them and get control but the sobs came out faster and harder; so Jane took her shot, set them both aside and pulled Darcy close, hugging her as tightly as she could, while she sobbed and muttered, over and over:

“I don’t want to hurt Clint... I never want to hurt Clint...”

 

.

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_So many things that you wished I knew  
But the story of us might be ending soon_

_._

_._

_._

_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Story of Us (Pt. II) coming soon.... 
> 
> In which people finally have 'the talk,' but it's not the people you think. 
> 
> /-/PREVIEW/-/
> 
> “So, what,” Clint swallowed hard, not sure what to do. “Do I... get to punch you or something?”
> 
> Steve steeled himself, standing firm like he won’t move an inch. “I’d feel better if you would.”
> 
> Clint thought about it, looking Steve over. The man really wouldn’t move if he threw a punch his way; he wasn’t sure that it was his military training that groomed him to accept punishment. This felt more like a man-to-man thing. He knew he messed up; he obviously hated himself for it and was trying to make things fair, if not completely right.
> 
> Clint stood up, shouldering his bow. “You know, I would? Except I’d probably break my fingers on your super-soldier jaw, or something, and,” he wiggled his fingers and shrugged. “I kind of need these.” 
> 
> Steve’s shoulders sagged. “Oh. Right.” Yeah, duh, Rogers, the archer needs his fingers working to arch...er. “Um... you could hit me with your bow?”
> 
> “Uh, no—if it breaks over that super-soldier frame of yours, that’ll be two of my favourite things you’ve ruined.” 
> 
> /-/END PREVIEW/-/
> 
> A/N: Apologies for how long it took to get this chapter out, folks!!! Life got unbelievably hectic just now (trying to graduate university this month whaaaaaat) and honestly this fic is helping with stress relief. Except that means I'm worried about the quality :-s 
> 
> BIG thanks to everyone who reads and comments, it means sooooo much to me (especially when it seems like I'm killing you all eheheheh) and I hope everyone's satisfied with the ending. The good part is that the timing of this has be making the last few chapters more Christmas related. AND WHO DOESN'T LIKE CHRISTMAS FLUFF AM I RIGHT? 
> 
> Thanks for your patience folks--I'll update soon! <3


	8. The Story of Us (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lord. I'm sorry for this chapter. 
> 
> 1) I'm sorry it's so, so long.  
> 2) I'm sorry for how bad it is (context aside)  
> 3) I'm sorry it took so long to upload (I've been working on it since November 30, folks. And I'm still not happy with it, but I don't think I'll ever be happy with it.)   
> 4) I'm sorry if you all hate me at the end.   
> 5) But your reviews are wonderful and inspiring, and the number of hits this story has received in the last few days--wowza!! You're great fans.... so I'm sorry for the abuse that follows :-X

The training room was quiet. Clint was the only one there. He had a few hours to kill before he and Natasha met up, and his joints were feeling a tad stiff since the night before. Of course, he still couldn’t remember what happened when he was under the influence, but he must’ve been tossed around or something. The bruise on his forehead was one he didn’t remember getting, if that was any indication. Either way, pulling on the bow, over and over, stretched his muscles in a very relaxing way. He was starting to feel like himself again.

After shooting his fourth round, he wondered if he should call Darcy. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Natasha earlier—regardless, Phil had spoken about his assistant being ill—but wasn’t that what someone-your-kind-of-dating did? Even if it wasn’t... well, he felt like he owed her for the special treatment he received a few days ago. Maybe he should bring her some chicken noodle soup and a bad movie or something. There was a deli near her apartment, one he liked—

Clint’s shoulders sagged and he looked up to the ceiling while rubbing his hand hard over his eyes. “Geezus, why is this so hard?” he mumbled to no one in particular.

It wasn’t that their relationship was hard. The difficulty lay in the fact that he had one girlfriend in his past. That was Natasha. And nothing had been standard with Natasha and his relationship. So would he come across as overbearing and clingy? Maybe she felt like crap and really _did_ want to be by herself. There had been times when he had been sick and gross (last night didn’t count) and the last thing he wanted was people coddling him. Darcy was pretty stubborn and strong—he could imagine her tossing used Kleenex at him to get some privacy in her misery.

All that considered.... they went on four dates. That’s it. They haven’t had ‘the talk’ yet.

Clint hasn’t had ‘the talk’ _ever._ With Natasha, they had to go to a S.H.I.E.L.D. seminar.

His phone began to vibrate. It lay on his towel on the other side of the shooting range, so the vibration was quieter, but his sensitive hearing could still pick it up; he jogged over, smiled at the name and answered.  “Darce!”

“ _Hey._ ”

“Hey,” he replied, tone softening with affection. “How’re you feeling?”

“ _Alright, I guess._ ”

She sounded wary. Clint bit his lip for a second. “What’re you up to?”

“ _I was going to ask you that,_ ” her voice was quiet, too. “ _Are you busy?_ ”

The tone in her voice made him stiffen, made him tilt his head. Something was off. Nervous habit made his eyes dart around the room, even though he was alone. “No, just training. What’s wrong?”

_“... can we meet up?”_

The fact that she didn’t deny that anything was wrong was very unsettling, but there was only one way to get to the bottom of it all. He glanced at the wall clock—he had plenty of time before meeting with Natasha. “Yeah, of course.”

Except, regardless of the time, he had a bad feeling this wasn’t going to be a quick, easy visit.

.

.

.

.

Darcy told him to meet her downstairs, outside the Tower entrance, in ten minutes—so that meant she was already on her way to the Tower. It made more sense when he stepped outside and saw not only her, but Jane approaching from the subway station. The physicist had living quarters in the Tower; if she had visited Darcy, she was heading back here anyway. At least that meant that his sick sort-of girlfriend hadn’t been riding the subway by herself.

He smiled warmly at Darcy but hadn’t expected Jane’s steps to quicken or for Darcy to linger behind. He stopped in his tracks when Jane met him head-on, her intern a few yards back. After getting over his confusion, he looked down at Jane. She was hard and intense—it made him lean away from her a bit, defensively. What was her problem?

“It’s none of my business,” she started to say, pressingly, “but you should know that everything Darcy tells you tonight? She has _never_ been more sincere about it. I’ve seen her cry twice in her life and tonight was one of those times. She’s beside herself. So...” she drifted off, pointing a finger at him to prove her point. His eyes narrowed in on that finger, momentarily, as if the tip held all the answers he was looking for, before finding nothing and staring back at her. Jane simply cleared her throat, walked around him and back to the Tower.

Clint stared after her, and glared. “Thanks for the cryptic message, doc!” But she didn’t turn around; he’d have to settle for glaring at the back of her head until she walked from his sight. Stupid, tiny, obscure scientist.

What the hell was she talking about? What was wrong? He looked back to Darcy—Darcy, who had just ridden the subway here even though she had been sick all day. Priorities, Barton.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and jogged over. The first thing he noticed was her cheeks were a bit pale and her eyes were red, but didn’t make note of it as he stepped up to her with a grin. “Hey.”

Darcy mustered up a smile. “Hey.”

Alright, enough’s enough. Clint tilted his head, trying to read her better by looking in her eyes. “Okay, look--you, coupled with the doc? You’re both scaring me right now.”

Darcy bit her lips together, but didn’t meet his gaze. “She... if she hadn’t dragged me down here, I would’ve chickened out.”

Oh, well that’s good to know. Clint reached a hand up and brushed her hair behind her ear, trying to encourage her a bit. Or maybe he was feeling a bit desperate and needed to touch her, to make sure this was actually happening. “Not helping the whole scared thing, Darce,” he murmured.

He watched her pause, hesitate, and that made him ache a bit. He didn’t want her to be cautious with him; he wanted her natural, easy-going... back to herself.

Instead, before he could completely interrogate her, Darcy reached out her gloved hand and tugged his free from his pocket, wrapping her fingers with his and tugged him forward. “C’mon. Let’s just go talk.”

.

.

.

.

.

The place they went was the same diner from their first date. This helped Clint’s apprehension a tad; basic-bitch or not, Darcy wouldn’t be so cruel as to dump him, publicly, at the same place that their relationship started. Even though this wasn’t a relationship yet.... even though everyone else besides them were treating it like one.

Not to mention, getting dumped here would ruin this diner forever for him. And they had great nachos, damn it.

Focus, Clint; focus.

Without question, they walked to the back of the diner towards the usual ‘Avengers’ booth—out of sight from the front door and with only one window, so there was less chance of passing tourists spotting them and disturbing the nacho outings. They slid into the vinyl seats and ordered their beers and nachos and then proceed to stare at each other.

Well, Clint stared at her; Darcy had a hard time taking her eyes off the wood tabletop.

In spite of his age and his experiences, and the normal sense of confidence he had around women, Clint felt unbelievably nervous and childlike. It was the same skittishness from earlier, and that was what made him reach across the table and grasp both her hands. She didn’t pull back, but she still wouldn’t look up at him, either.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” he asked softly.

Darcy moved her hands, her thumbs brushing over his knuckles—which made him feel only minutely better—and finally took a deep breath.

“Okay,” she started. “Ooookay.”

“Darcy, seriously.”

Darcy wrinkled her nose. “I’m working on it, okay?” she pouted.

“You keep _saying_ ‘okay’ and I’m only feeling less-so.”

But she frowned at him, saddened, and he felt guilty for teasing her. That wasn’t going to get her to talk right now. “Nevermind.” He squeezed her fingers. “Okay?” It was a question, asking her to continue.

Back on her train of thought, Darcy looked up at him. “I’m not used to guys like you.”

Clint tried to stop himself from making a face at that. He hoped that was a compliment. But making his usual back-handed comment at her words was not a good idea, because the way Darcy was acting, any resistance from him may shut her up and he’d never find out what was wrong.

It only hit him then that her eyes were red, maybe not from being sick, but from crying. It only hit him because in her pause, her green eyes welled up again. Her fingers shook lightly in his hold—he held tighter to steady her.

“You’re...” her voice caught at the squeeze of his hands, and was quieter. “You’re funny, and you’re surprisingly kind, and damn it if you’re the hottest guy I’ve ever kissed—“

His mouth pulled into a wary grin at that. “Thanks?”

Darcy stopped, and took another deep breath. “I think... I think my head is all foggy. And it’s not fair to you to be stuck with someone so.... lost.”

Whoa. Wait a second.

Clint held her hands faster, as if afraid she was about to pull back and dash out the diner that very second, and he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. Not without more of an explanation. What on earth was she getting at? What was she lost about? He leaned closer and tried to look into her eyes—Clint was a watcher. He was able to read people.

Yet, when it came to Darcy, she was impossible right now.

He hadn’t had a chance to talk to her since they were all called form the party last night and dragged into the battlefield, but he could imagine her being scared. She did seem a bit frazzled before he kissed her goodbye—it was hard. Tony barely hinted that Pepper was more than relieved whenever he came back from a mission. Thor was always focused on avoiding ‘causing Jane distress’ when they were working in the field. There had to be a sense of anxiousness on the other side, then; the girls didn’t know what was happening, and they would only hear the SHIELD-approved version that may not give them the answers they want or need.

All they could do was sit on their hands and do nothing. Maybe that’s what was so foggy. She hadn’t signed up for any of this—she was just an assistant.

“Are you scared?” When she only blinked back at him, he turned their hands so he held both of hers, and traced his finger over the top of her hand in slow, random patterns. In a whisper, he tells her, “It’s okay to be scared, sweetheart.”

He had a feeling that the tears would start at that, and Darcy _did_ clench her eyes shut, trailing down her cheeks and dragging her mascara with it. “I wanna tell you everything,” she manages to say, “but I don’t want to hurt you.”

Clint’s brow furrowed. “Babe, what are you talking about?” He was hurting because he was about to get dumped (possibly) and c’mon, pride always takes a beating when you’re dumped. Except, at this point, they could actually _be_ something. Something real. And on top of that, like he had thought earlier, they hadn’t ever sat down and gone through the rules and restrictions. There were no guidelines. What could she do to hurt him?

Suddenly she pulled her hands back—he resisted holding her back—and began fanning herself and staring at the ceiling while muttering ‘okay’ over and over and over again like a calming mantra. “I’m gonna say it—I’m gonna say it and I’m gonna get it over and out and done with.” Her hands hit the table and finally, _finally,_ she stared at him dead-on.  

“The gas. The drunk gas.” Her voice was a bit stronger now, and completely serious. “It made you guys.... all horny, and whatever, right?”

Clint grimaced. Oh shit. Had she heard--?

“Steve kissed me.”

.... Oh.

... _OH._

Slowly Clint raised his brows, jaw dropping in realization.  So she had taken care of Steve and he kissed her in his drunken state. He didn’t think the Cap had it in him.

 _Interesting._ Maybe this was as good a time as any to tell her _his_ news about last night.

“I have a feeling I made a grab at Natasha.”

Darcy’s expression fell before her brows furrowed and her nose wrinkled. “What?” Her surprise was evident in her barking question.

Clint shrugged and ran his hand over the back of his neck, nervously. “I’ve got this bruise that wasn’t reported before being dismissed,” he started, thinking out loud about what he had been pondering all day. “And, like you said, the report states that every guy was... slightly aroused and perverted,” he coughed at that and looked away. “So... I think I felt her up. It explains why my head was killing me when I woke up.”

Darcy blinked, in complete awe. “You _felt up_ the _Black Widow._ ” Now she was deadpan.

Clint grimaced. “Look, I know it’s a death wish, _believe_ me—I wouldn’t have done it if I was in my right mind. That’s why she only knocked me out instead of killing me.”

Whatever she was feeling over her own confession had been completely trumped by his. She was blinking rapidly, in awe, and horror, and shock, all at once. She mouthed, _holy fuck,_ a few times as she tried to wrap her head around it all. Thankfully, that was when the waitress arrived with their beers; Darcy promptly took a swig from hers and emptied half of it. This was a moment of ‘liquid courage,’ as Tony would call it. Clint had to chuckle at her.

Well, at least she wasn’t crying anymore.

Clint rubbed his hand over his stubble thoughtfully as she took it in, slowly piecing things together. “I don’t remember it, by the way.” When she met his gaze, intrigued, he continued. “None of us do. Tony can’t remember being a perving asshole, I woke up with a bruise I can’t recall getting and Steve said there were _sandwiches_ on his nightstand but he can’t remember making anything.” 

Now it was her turn to grimace. “I figured he’d want some food before he went to bed. Greasy food.” She shrugged innocently. “Like all drunks do.”

She was acting a bit more like herself. The reaction she had to his blunder was completely Darcy-like, and it had calmed his nerves, but he had a dreadful feeling that this wasn’t a tit-for-tat scenario that would blow over (pardon the pun).

If it was, she wouldn’t have said what she did earlier. _Feeling foggy. Feeling lost_. When Clint had screwed up, he felt remorseful and embarrassed, plain and simple. He didn’t question his feelings or where they stood.

Suddenly he has a feeling that he’s about to be dumped in the worst possible way, and all the signs are hitting him at once. Things Natasha said. Things Pepper said. Hell, things Tony’s done, too. It’s all becoming horribly obvious and he’s failing his namesake.

... fuck.

Clint was still regarding her as he continued. “So you called in sick to avoid seeing Steve or me today?” His voice wasn’t as cheery as a moment ago.

And she noticed it, but she at least respected him enough to meet his gaze. For the first time tonight, she was really looking at him, without a front or facade... and now it was all painfully obvious. She was biting her bottom lip, worrying it, before speaking.

“But for... for a bit more than that.”

When he was silent, she knew she had to keep going.

“You need to know that... that Steve and I have _never_ done anything before. Ever. Not a thing. He’s always the one to keep the six-inch distance at all times, like a good little boy scout,” she tried to joke but it came out insincere, and her frown soured at herself as a result. “He... he just always looked like he needed a friend. And I wanted to be friends with him.”

Clint took a deep breath, tension leaving his shoulders on exhalation, and rubbed his hand through his hair, scrubbing at it but staying quiet. As vague as she was being, the image she painted was clear, bits and pieces filled in by everyone else who offered their two cents earlier.

Two-cents need to come with a warning label. Or should be called ‘warnings.’

“And he may be old fashioned, but he’s sweet and caring and after a mission goes badly—“ she dipped her head momentarily before looking back up, and he saw the yearning there that spelt it out so easily. So easily it could’ve slapped him in the face and he hated himself more.

“You know what he does? He goes to the park and draws people. He says humanity reminds him why he goes out when you guys get the call. Just... all by himself.”

Christ, that’s depressing. Clint shook his head to clear those thoughts for now--the familiar feeling of how alone he feels after a bad mission--because the image of Steve sitting by himself while feeling the same thing? He wanted to barf.

Then he realized that their roles had changed—now Darcy was trying to look him in the eye and he was avoiding her. No, not her, per say; he was avoiding the situation. The inevitable.

How childish of him.

“But he’s always been kind of...  untouchable, you know? The public and S.H.I.E.L.D. put him on this pedestal and keep him there,” she starts mimicking a bit with her hands, and the more she talks, the closer she gets to rambling. Unbelievably, as she continues, the less she seems like she’s going to cry and the more she sounds like herself.

“He’s like, he’s like—I don’t know, I can’t think of an analogy right now. ANYWAYS.” She slams her hands down on the table, jarring the forks and the napkin holder and the salt-and-pepper shakers, and it momentarily jars Clint out of the funk he’s sinking into.

“Then there’s me.”

“And then there’s you,” he muses along, trying to cover up the bitterness and not sure if he’s doing a good job.

He watched her swallow, hard, before speaking (So he wasn’t covering it up very well at all).

“I’m a kid from the 80s, and I own a Pokémon backpack and all the _Cheech & Chong_ movies, and he doesn’t even know what _Cheech & Chong_ _is!_ He comes from a time where the army thought that you could prevent syphilis by using _lotion_!” she exclaimed, practically erratic now. “And yes, that’s true; I’ve been to the Museum of Sex, okay? And that’s not—I can’t _function_ in that kind of ideology! You heard the peanut-butter-and-jam joke I told last week, right?” She gave him a look, demanding the truth.

And in spite of his mood, Clint definitely remembered the absolutely _filthy_ joke she told last week and had to suppress his grin. “Yes—yes I did.”

“See?  That’s how I am! _Naturally!”_ she emphasized. After brushing her hair back, she rested her head in her hands. “I told myself that me and him—it just wasn’t happening.”

Suddenly he saw her for how exhausted she was over this whole mess.

There was a long pause, and Clint was the first to say it, quiet and low.

“Yet, in spite of the lotion theory... you still like him.”

Now he knew what Natasha had been hinting at about Steve sitting with Darcy at lunch. Now he knew what Pepper had meant when she had said, _Darcy’s ability to treat all of us like normal people is what makes her great; and it’s exactly the medicine Steve needs right now._ Now he knew why Tony had suggested Darcy for the Blue Room on Steve’s behalf.

The hand he rested in his chin in clenched momentarily, feeling the pressure of his fingernails in his palm. It was... relieving.

Darcy watched him for a moment before her fingers carded into her hair, pulling at its roots, elbows on the table. The dark brown curls came before her face, hiding her expression, but he didn’t have to look at her to see the regret.

“No matter how many times I practiced this,” she muttered towards the table, “with Jane and on the subway and in my head... there’s no way to make it sound like I didn’t settle for you.”

She had that right.

“But I didn’t, Clint.” The tears have returned and her voice is quiet and breaking. “Clint, you came along and you swept me away—I think you’re the only guy in the world that can look hot during a Nerf war.”

“Darce.”

“And you’re funny, and you _get_ the peanut-butter-and-jam joke. Not only that: you _laugh_ at it. You like going to the dive bars with me, you like drinking beers and relaxing, and you’re so hot and amazing, and surprisingly sweet, especially that morning after I stayed over, and even though it’s only been four dates, this is probably the best relationship I’ve ever had because, lets face it, all my boyfriends have just been sex-buddies, and you and me, it feels like we’re building substance, and that’s good for me and it’s good for you, and why would I think I’m settling for you? Hell, Clint, I’m _reaching_ for you, anyone that deserves to be with you should fight for you, but—I don’t want to hurt you, Clint, I just don’t, and I’m doing it anyway—“

When her voice caught on her sobs, he finally looked back at her and felt an ache in his chest, the same he felt earlier. While he was stewing in his own embarrassment, and trying not to let Darcy’s flattery get to him (she was simply buttering him up, just like all the other girls, right? So she wouldn’t feel so bad about dumping him) he suddenly realized that what Jane had told him mere minutes ago... all made sense. Darcy sincerely felt like shit and was very lost and hated herself right now. It was as obvious as everything else had been.

“ _Darce,_ ” he insisted the word, grasping her hands again and holding them tightly as she sobbed. She ducked her head, turning her cheek into her shoulder. When she started to shudder, he stood from his side and slid into the booth beside her, pulling her to him, and she started to protest until he swore and demanded that she let him hold her. So she turned her head into his neck, and he held her close, rubbing his hand smoothly, firmly over her back.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but when she finally pushed back from him (and when he finally let her) the nachos were on the table. Clint glanced around, wondering when the hell the waitress had walked up to this awkward scene, and then he felt like crap since he was letting his guard down, but got over it and ducked his head against hers, trying to see her eyes. “Have you calmed down?”

She nodded as she wiped her eyes.

“Okay. First off,” he tried to speak as nicely as possible. He didn’t want to come across as condescending. “... it’s okay.”

Darcy glared at him. “How is this okay? This isn’t okay. My experience is lacking, Clint, but after-school specials have taught me this is not okay and I’m a horrible person.”

“No, you’re not, and yes, it is,” he insisted. With a sigh, he elaborated. “We never had ‘the talk,’ Darce. We never established boundaries. We went on four dates and had a sleepover. We weren’t exactly official—not that I was seeing anyone else, anyway.”

“And I wasn’t either—but he just—“

“—he kissed you and it messed with your feelings, yeah, yeah, look, you talked, now let me talk.” He tipped her face up; her green eyes were amplified by the wetness and he found himself caught in them momentarily. “I was starting to like you. Hell, I still do, Darce, but I have no hold over you. You’re your own person. And actually, I don’t think us being in a relationship would’ve controlled you much, anyway.”

She tilted her head, unable to deny the fact.

He brushed her hair back, and then repeated the motion just to feel it again. “I get it. I get that you’re confused. I assumed you might be scared, too—dating an Avenger isn’t easy. But....” he stopped, and waited for her to look him in the eye. “What do you want to do, Darce?”

He watched her swallow, hard, before speaking. “I want to take a break. Not... well, maybe, ‘pause’ us. But I need a break from... from men. No men.” She shook her head, still disgusted with herself. “If I had been smarter, I would’ve taken a break when I decided I wouldn’t like Steve anymore. I _should’ve_ told you to ask me out again in a month. Then we could’ve avoided ... all _this_.” She gestured with her hands to make the international sign for _clusterfuck_.

Clint considered this... and agreed. “Okay.”

Darcy looked up at him tentatively. “Really?”

“Really, really.” he began. “Taking a break from it all will probably be the best thing you could do. That’s what I do when I start hating work. You can be like all those heroines in those bad 1990s romantic comedies that decide that ‘they’re just going to focus on their careers right now.’ Now c’mon,” he slid out of the seat and went back to his own. “The nachos are hardening.”

They sipped their beers and munched for a few minutes, when Darcy looked at him skeptically. “That was oddly insightful, what you said just now.”

Clint grimaced. “Don’t get used to it—it doesn’t happen often.”

Darcy sighed. “That’s what Natasha said.”

Clint raised a brow, curious. “Do you _ever_ talk with her?”

“I _want_ to,” she started. “She just... well, scares the crap out of me. And then you tell me about how you felt her up,” she shook her head, unable to comprehend it. “I’m shocked she didn’t kill you.”

Clint shrugged. “She’s not that bad. We’re all human, Darce.”

What a thing to say. It was enough to shut them up for a while as they considered the definition of ‘human,’ all while picking at their nachos and avoiding gazes.

Part of him was still mad, still upset, but with some oddly-timed clarity, Clint couldn’t deny that this could be worse. He saw Darcy’s pain and it was a harsh reminder that she _was_ younger than him. That maybe, she didn’t have it all figured out—or only most of it figured out, like he did. That she really did feel openly and honestly upset about how this played out. For that honesty, he would reward her by being civil in her presence.

He could mope later.

Her beer was half-gone by the time she spoke again. “For the record,” she held up a chip threateningly. “I mean it when I say I’m taking a break. I’m not like those other college ho-bags that tell one guy they _don’t feel like dating right now_ and are seen with another dude two days later. I’m _so_ on a break.”

Clint raised a brow skeptically but humoured her. “I believe you, but at the same time... you couldn’t handle seeing both of us today. What’s tomorrow going to be like?”

Darcy’s expression soured. “I have no idea.”

Neither were in a hurry to leave; they didn’t chug their beer or wolf down the nachos. There wasn’t any rush to finish this last date. They spoke, quietly, maybe more openly than they had before. They talked about fears: being an Avenger and dating one. Darcy joked about how villains should be more terrified of Jane or Pepper than of the actual Avengers and Clint could only smirk, since it played well into his earlier thought. She asked what he would do if he ever retired and he talked about some of the remote islands he spent months hiding out when he had gotten too deep undercover. There was something nice and relaxing about being that far off the grid, and Darcy admired his description of it.

When he sat down, the evening had taken a turn for the worse, and he was probably going to be feeling like complete shit the minute he was by himself. In spite of that, though... this was a new kind of comfortable that he wasn’t accustomed to.

Eventually, though, it was getting to be _that_ time. Clint tried to pay but Darcy threw him her best glare and he backed down, but wouldn’t let her talk him out of taking her home. On the subway, they sat next to each other, pressed close from the other passengers.

Neither of them tried to hold hands. It would be too strange.

They climbed the stairs of her walkup and she dug her keys out at the door, trying to delay looking at him for now. Eventually she met his gaze and found his eyes warm and open.

“So,” she swallowed hard. “Is this going to be weird tomorrow?” Her voice was small, much like it had been at the start of their evening. He didn’t want her to be like that—he didn’t want it to end on that note.

Cautiously, he stepped closer to her, into her personal space, afraid she may run off, but she barely budged. “No,” he replied, smiling sweetly. “It’s not going to be weird.” A hand reached up and brushed her hair back off her shoulders, before he gently cupped her face. 

He spoke in a low voice, the same gravel tone that, instead of grating on her, felt strong and solid and reassuring. He was foundation, giving her somewhere to stand while she was so fogged up.

“I don’t want you to be weird around me, Darcy. I don’t hate you—I’ll _never_ hate you,” he insisted. “If you’re in trouble, if you’re scared, or if you just want to talk... because you were there for me—I’ll always be there for you.”

Her eyes welled with tears again and he couldn’t resist pulling her in for one last kiss. Thankfully she didn’t push him away, and it was sweet and soft. There was no pressure from either side. This was comfort. They pulled apart, smiled, bid each other goodnight and went their separate ways.

It had begun to snow again by the time he got outside. All he could do was turn his collar up, stuff his hands into his pockets and head for the subway. It wasn’t until he reached the steps down to the trains that he had any kind of thought.

“Fuck.”

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

The snow that had begun to fall an hour ago had covered New York in a light dust, like icing sugar on a pastry. It also caused a pretty harsh nip in the air, and as Clint road the elevator to the roof, he wondered if this really was a good idea. Not the interaction—the sitting-on-a-roof 120 stories high part. At least on the ground, the skyscrapers block the worst of the wind. Coffee shops were indoors with heat. Bars were indoors. Hell, everything was indoors.

And, not to be melodramatic at all, but a rooftop with a long fall may be the last place he should be right now.

Actually, it turned out that the rooftop fire pit wasn’t some harebrained scheme thought up on a warm summer’s night, but a deliberate idea in the Towers blueprints and the open exposure was taken into account. When Clint opened the door to the roof, bracing himself for the cold, he found high walls surrounding the edges and a deliberate sunken portion of the roof with a built-in fire pit. It was one of those fancy, broken-glass setups where the flames appear from a flick of a switch, and thankfully, it roared pretty soundly. Nothing beat the smell and crackle of actual wood, in his opinion, but this was still pretty cool.

“Nice,” he complimented, even though Stark wasn’t present.

Natasha heard him though, and smiled in greeting. She was already situated on one of four cushioned chairs; a six pack of their favourite beer (this rare kind they found while on mission in Helsinki) sat on the gravel at her feet. She was in the middle of wrapping a huge afghan--one from her room--around herself when he arrived.

Natasha eyed his jacket as it protruded oddly in the front. “What is that?”

“It’s freezing my nips off, that’s what that is.” Clint unzipped his jacket to reveal a bottle of fancy white wine. He saw Natasha tilting her head and explained. “Found where the caterers were keeping the liquor. Oh, don’t look at me like that; I shoved 50 bucks into the first donation bin I saw.” It was true; as he made his way back to his room he stopped by the kitchens by the cafeteria, hoping to find some liquor to borrow, and found the stash for tomorrow night’s Stark Charity whatever-and-such. They wouldn’t miss one bottle from the hundreds that remained.

Besides, yeah, it was a Children’s Hospital benefit, but instead of ‘stealing candy from a baby,’ this was ‘stealing liquor from the children.’ Therefore, he should be a hero.

And frankly, he needed it more than they did, anyway.

The glare, spurred by the thieving, promptly left the spy’s face and she settled back down, satisfied enough with his efforts. Clint noted the spare blanket on the chair next to hers and took a seat, producing two plastic cups from his pocket (also thieved) and poured them each a drink.

They sipped and sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the warmth of the fire slowly seep in against their chilled bones, and stared up at the sky to admire the open space. Clint couldn’t take his eyes away from the emptiness; it was oddly calming, just as the alcohol was starting to seep into and warm his cold, cold heart.

“It’s almost quiet up here,” Clint murmured eventually.

Natasha nodded approvingly. “Bruce told me about this—Tony put it in to give him a place to breathe.”

Very thoughtful of him. And now that Clint thought of it, it was something he didn’t expect from the good doctor. Clint hummed before trying to catch her gaze, curiosity getting the better of him. “So he sits up here after a mission goes badly?”

Natasha was decidedly expressionless. “I guess so.”

The success in the field during battle, be it humans versus aliens or robots or mad scientists, relied heavily on the team’s ability to communicate and get along. It had been six months since the Battle of Manhattan, and so far, the rag-tag team of heroes had been coasting along, but there reaches a point where there needs to be more trust and dependence. With the exception of Tony’s awkward outings and mandatory Avenger parties, Clint coldn’t think of a time since Phil’s funeral that they were all together outside of work.

So what _did_ he know? Tony retreated to Pepper; Tarzan--.... _Thor_ had his Jane. Bruce liked his time on the roof, it turned out. Steve....

... fucking Steve.

“You know what Steve does?” he brought up, so loudly that Natasha jerked her head sharply, but Clint kept looking up into the calming black above them. “He goes to the park and draws people. Says it reminds him of what he’s trying to save—reminds him about _humanity._ ”

“That’s.... that’s heartbreaking.”

Clint only scoffed and shot back the rest of his wine. He needed to start feeling numb; any time now would be good. Anyways, back on track: what else did he know? Up until recently, he assumed he needed to be alone after a bad mission. And what about his partner, the one who would take a bullet for him? What did he know about her?

If he bothered to look away from the stars for a minute, he would see her wrinkling her nose at him, completely baffled at his attitude. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Natasha?”

She didn’t look away, but her voice tightened. “ _Yes?_ ”

“Where do _you_ go to breathe?”

That was all it took for her to stop questioning him for the moment. When she didn’t reply right away, he finally lolled his head to the side, facing her, and found warning and hesitation in her gaze. This was territory they hadn’t delved into for years, not since she first started working for S.H.I.E.L.D., not since they began working as partners, not since they had been ... well, an ‘item’ would probably be the easiest description for what they had been. The topic he brought up was, actually, the same that caused their last fight. It was a pretty major argument, and his question tonight may result in another fight. But Clint really needed some of the blanks to be filled in, because, obviously, he had been walking in the dark for a while.

He wasn’t backing down, though, not this time. He stared openly, challenging her, daring her to show him some emotion.

And suddenly, Natasha was fidgeting. _Fidgeting._ This alarmed Clint more than an answer. More than Loki or a bad mission or Phil stalking him for paperwork. _Natasha was not supposed to be fidgety._

“This isn’t what I brought you up here for,” she replied, looking away from him and back to the flames.

Clint frowned harshly. “Come off it, Tash—just tell me.”

“I do the same thing you do, Barton.” The response was biting, just to shut him up. She downed the rest of her wine in one gulp, not spilling a drop. Russians don’t spill, especially when it came to liquid courage. “Or, at least I thought I did,” she murmured.

Whoa, hold on a second. “What does _that_ mean?”

Natasha returned his sneer, her whole expression completely sour. “Seriously: what is with you right now?”

“I asked first,” Clint retorted, filling up a second glass of wine. As much as he wouldn’t admit it, the reason he grabbed the wine wasn’t to have a drink with his teammate. It was more about drowning his sorrows. Because that’s what you do when you’re dumped, right? Indulge. Even if it damages your liquor.

When he looked back up, she was staring nervously at his glass. Now she didn’t want to say anything, since he was being so strange. The hesitation was obvious in her gaze, but he had backed her into a corner and there wasn’t any easy way out. “She stayed with you that night,” she finally mumbled.

“Wait— _Darcy?_ ” Oh, if this whole hanging-out thing was going to be about Darcy, he was pissed. And fucked. And he’d need another bottle of wine.

As he rolled his head back and groaned, she took offense and finally got pissed back at him. Like an angry cat, she sat up in her chair, gaze sharpening, claws out, fur on end, ready to pounce, all of that, because that was what the last fight had been about, hadn’t it? Something had gone wrong, she tried to be with him and he pushed her away, almost violently. He had his reasons. Now he was going to get it, whether he liked it or not.

“You’ve _always_ wanted to be alone after a bad mission. Always. You hated when I was around.”

“That’s because you would sit and _stare_ —“ Clint caught himself as he started to raise his voice. He stiffened, took a deep breath, and made himself sit back in his chair once again, urging each muscle to relax before he got out of control. Drinking never helped that, and now he was madder at himself for bringing up the bottle when he was in such a state already. On top of that, this is why they never talked about _it_ ; everything escalated too quickly. 

After a second of strained silence, he set his glass on the ground, prepared to ignore it for the rest of the night.

“This isn’t what we’re talking about.”

Natasha’s shoulders sagged, her defenses lowering slowly now that she saw a bit of him coming back and joining them. “No,” she agreed softly, resting back in her chair and eyeing his abandoned glass. “No, it isn’t.”

“Glad we agree on something. And for the record, Darcy just cleaned me up and slept over. That’s it.”

“... Okay then.”

“... so is this about Darcy, then?”

Natasha worried her lower lip. “Partially.”

Clint sighed. “Could we skip it?”

Now she looked uncomfortable again. “It’s not my position to butt in—“

“But you’re totally doing it, anyway.”

“Because I _care_ about you, asshat,” she snapped after he cut her off. “And frankly, she’s only been around for a month or so, but everyone else on the team cares for her just as much as you. In different ways.”

Oh, how painfully obvious that was _now, after_ the break-up. _After_ Darcy opened up. _After_ he connected the dots between what Natasha’s told him, and what Pepper’s said and how Tony has acted. He needed time to go process this—time to _go breathe,_ as the saying goes—and he didn’t want to rehash it all with Natasha was it was still so fresh.

Natasha set her glass aside and went for a beer. As she popped the cap, she said, “As glad as I am that the rest of the team is getting on better _with_ her, I’m worried about what happens when you two fight for the first time after you act like an asshole. You’re prone to that. Or, to be fair,” she raised the bottle to her lips, “what would happen if _she_ messes up.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed, completely skeptical. Did she know? There was no way she knew. Did she know something happened and this was her way of warning him (albeit too late)? Because he was a sucker for self-punishment, (and because he was curious about how much Natasha would tell him, thereby proving if she was meddling or loyal) he quirked a brow and pushed her to continue. “Are you suggesting that the other Avengers are going to come beat me up if I make her cry?”

“Possibly, yes,” she replied easily before taking a sip and stopping short when something occurred to her. “Actually, Steve told her _exactly_ that in the cafeteria the day after your first date. So, to be clear, you will get beat up by _at least_ one Avenger if you make her cry.”

Suddenly he had an unbelievable urge to throw his wine off the roof.

Natasha watched him groan with frustration and scrub his face with his hands. The reaction seemed a bit dramatic, and now she was actually concerned that he would scratch himself. She swallowed before offering, “Thought you ought to know the truth.”

When his hands fell he looked like a man defeated, worn and tired. She wasn’t expecting _that._ But before she could comment, he sighed and said, “No, the truth is that Darcy just broke up with me three hours ago.”

Natasha’s eyes widened. “ _What?_ ”

“And it’s because she had feelings for Steve before she started dating me.” He took another deep breath and leaned his head back up to the comforting black above them. “She says it’s not fair to me to string me along when she doesn’t know what she wants.”

Natasha gaped momentarily before closing her mouth. Training kicked in and prevented her from staring at him while this information rocked her a bit. “So. Steve _did_ do something last night.”

Clint bit his lip hard. “He kissed her.”

“He was acting jumpy all day.”

Clint’s brow furrowed, confused. Does he remember kissing her, then? But, more importantly... “Did you want to talk to me tonight to warn me?”

Suddenly, as if she was happy to not beat around the bush anymore, she sighed. “Do you want my honest opinion, Clint?” Her voice was stronger than it was a moment ago as she was prepared to let him have it.

Regardless of it, he smiled fondly. “I always take your opinions, Nat. You know that.”

Her glare softened, only a bit; his confession made her want to respect the process a bit more. She started peeling at the label on her beer bottle, just to give her hands something to do. As a spy, Nat could keep her cool easily, but when he came to her friends and colleagues, she had a knack for getting nervous.  

“I was going to tell you that I think she’s too young for you,” she stated once she took a deep drink. “Too young in that you’re probably the first _man_ she’s ever dated, so she’ll easily fall head over heels because you’re so much easier to deal with, because you know what you want in a relationship. Your experiences have shown you what you want. Your maturity appeals to her—shut up, I’m talking,” she cut him off when he made a face at the ‘m’ word. “Compared to the boys she’s had in her life, you’re mature. Remember, girls age faster than boys—she’s been waiting for a man that knows how to behave since she was 15.”

Clint didn’t have anything to say to this; it made sense, but he didn’t think he could win someone over so easily because of age. He was actually more worried that Darcy would make some ‘daddy issues’ crack because that would’ve been much more awkward.  

“Secondly,” Natasha continued, settling back in her chair, “if she fell fast for you—which she did, as I explained in the first point—she’s going to give her all to this before she probably should.” She narrowed her eyes a tad. “I told her to leave you alone that night.”

Clint started at this. “You did?”

Natasha nodded. “Of course. You’ve only been on four dates with her, Barton. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into with you. It’s not a normal relationship, dating an Avenger. We have our demons and our darkness... and frankly, the last thing I would want to do is spread that to someone I cared about.”

At that, he met her gaze, and all the snark and warning was gone. Her eyes were sad now, as was her frown. Words unspoken, but clear to them both, were that this was why they spent so many nights by themselves: they didn’t want to spread the darkness to each other. Not just he and Natasha... but all the Avengers.

It all made sense. He knows it does. Natasha has forever been his voice of reason; the way she can lay out a problem so easily, all from her observances, to see things he may have elected to ignore because he was just enjoying the now. And here he was, thinking everything was fine and dandy.

Clint sighed, heavily. He was annoyed that it played out this way. Angry that his job inhibited him from normal life experiences. Pissed that he didn’t spot it sooner. Frustrated with himself for getting so upset and lying to Darcy that it was all okay. And above all, disappointed in himself for pouting like a child.

She didn’t say a word more, having said her piece and unsure of what else _could_ be said at a moment like this. For now, the fire crackling, the sirens far below wailed, the wind swirled about, and the sky above, was dark, empty, free of everything troublesome, and inviting.

“You never answered my question. Where do you go to breathe?”

 “... I sit curled up with my blankets and wait for the shaking to go away.”

The imagery was far too vivid for Clint to handle; he had been there. When he was sent to kill the Russian, he had found her after one of her missions had gone horrible wrong. After the hospital... she was sitting in that hole of an apartment, sparse blanket wrapped around her, shoulders shaking, taking deep, gasping breathes. She looked so small, and, when she saw him, so frightened. She could barely form the words that she was scared, frightened, please don’t kill her—

That’s when he had made the call.

And to think that she was still that badly affected sometimes, even now....

 “Jesus, Nat, if we’re going to be miserable, we might as well be miserable together,” he suggested. Since his mood had soured, his taste shifted from the fancy wine to their traditional beer.  He chucked his glass aside and grabbed a beer from her case and chucked the cap off before taking a long swig. After he swallowed, he chuckled. “Maybe we’ll come up here and mope together with Bruce.”

He almost missed the short tilt of her head. It could almost be a twitch, but this was a definite movement. One of her brows lifted momentarily. If his suggestion was just a mere joke, she didn’t think it was a bad idea.

“When exactly are we allowed to be happy, Tash?”

Her smile was probably intended to be a bit snarky, poking fun at him, but there’s a foundation of sadness that can’t be ignored or overlooked. “When we get out of the business, Barton.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any plot-holes and sentences that don't make sense; this whole chapter has plagued me for WEEKS. 
> 
> Also, I don't think there will be an update until the New Year. My final term papers (EVER) are due January 1st, and while this fanfic has been a lovely stress reliever, I need to buckle down and get 'er done. And yes, I have a final chapter count: this story will be 12 chapters long. That's it. That's all she wrote. 
> 
> Hope everyone had a great Christmas, and happy new year!
> 
> OH, and I'm posting the playlist I listen to while writing this on my tumblr. Go check it out, if you want more abuse, but with a soundtrack ;)


	9. The No-Good, Very Bad Day (Pt. I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after from Darcy's POV. Very melodramatic but let's face it, we all have those times when we dig ourselves into a whole of self-loathing and can't get out of. Here's Darcy's day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;_; you’re all wonderful people. Thank you for feeding my insecure writer feels with all your amazing reviews for that last chapter. 
> 
> Obviously, as we are taking a bit of a turn here, I really wanted to get this next chapter right. It took a long time because—get this—I made myself reread the story. I don’t know how many fanfic writers do this, but for me, I get so excited to be done a chapter that I throw it online and never look at it again, moving on, happily, to the new things. But considering the change of character, I need to see where I’ve taken her before I can figure out where Darcy will go. 
> 
> Also, THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR COMMENTS!!! I wish I could get around to replying to you all, but then everything got backed up--I'll be ontop of my game this time. I just want you all to know that I love you <3
> 
> (on a side note, Jesus Christ, i need to get a beta or maybe actually proof my stories. TYPOS. MISSING WORDS. I’M SO SORRY EVERYONE!!!)
> 
>  
> 
> So apologies for the stupidly long wait. Here’s Darcy’s no-good, very bad day.

****

**_DARCY LEWIS AND HER NO-GOOD, VERY BAD DAY  
(UP UNTIL 2:37 PM)_ **

 

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**_8:13 AM_ **

 

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So yesterday was a complete write-off—it was unproductive, regressive and all that crap. Today, on the other hand... today would be productive, and life affirming and she was going to march into that Tower and be the best god damned assistant Phil Coulson has ever seen. Darcy would get the scientists working and she would get all the reports finished far before their deadlines, and she was going to focus on work and everything would be fine.

Everything would be fine.

This attitude was mostly inspired by Clint’s 1990s rom-com comment he made last night. So many times a leading lady would say she couldn’t handle dealing with her feelings for Hugh Jackman or Hugh Grant or Hugh... Laurie? Did he do any rom-coms? Anyways, the lady would go buy a new business suit and walk into work and give a great presentation or land a big client, and shortly after, everything in her love-life fell into place all on its own.

Okay, so maybe her new attitude regarding work had an ulterior motive, but if karma and the universe could do _any_ of her work for her, she’d take that change.

Darcy didn’t exactly have the funds for a new business suit—and anyways, she liked to say that she didn’t let material items determine her happiness—so she settled on going to work in a dress. Then she had noticed the snow outside her apartment window and switched to a sweater dress. (Hey, it was still a step-up from her leggings/baggy sweater attire she normally donned.)

During her subway ride to work ride she reminded herself how productive she would be and how this was a turning point, but a logical part of her wanted to know how much of a time-out she was giving her love life. And when she said time-out, she didn’t mean when she would allow herself to date again—she meant how long was she not even going to _think_ about her situation (it was too messed up to think about). At the bare minimum, she should take two weeks off (considering her and Clint were on four dates in two weeks) but that meant she would be trying to figure things out around Christmas, and combined with family dysfunction and shopping and all that crap, she’d be more stressed out than she already was...

Okay, maybe she would take a bit more time off. Maybe till New Years? Yes, that’s a good idea.

Make that New Years Day. That way, no kiss-me-at-midnight regrets. Solid plan.

So with some sense of solidity and confidence, Darcy entered Stark Tower, passing the guards with her head high as she flashed her pass. The confidence ran through her, pumping through her veins, and was still present by the time she got into the elevator.

Yes, today would be a good day. Nothing wrong with today.

She thought that, at least, until she reached her floor, and reached her department, and the aisle that lead to her cubicle and spotted Steve’s broad back standing beside her cubicle, waiting for her. Because when she saw him, cowardly instinct took over, she said, “ _nope_ ,” to no one in particular and spun on her heel, making a beeline to the copy room, where she would hide until Steve left.

Damn it, she was pathetic.

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**_8:36 AM_ **

 

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Someone had broken Phil Coulson.

Normally he was a rock—the foundation under Nick Fury that was solid, firm and confidant, and perfect for the position of second-in-command. At times he has been called emotionless, when really, he had a thick exterior that came from years on the job and desensitization. Harsh as it may sound, Phil always said it made his job easier.

But this morning, the reliable old soul was broken. The professional half-smile Phil wears for agents, consultants, Avengers and civilians alike was gone, and may never come back. Instead, he was frowning. His brow was furrowed, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed.

It was not a look Darcy wanted to be on the receiving end of, but since she had broken Phil Coulson, she was getting it.

“Work,” he said, slowly, disjointed, “out in...the field?”

In spite of him staring into her soul, Darcy kept as straight a face as she could, and attempted to nod casually (as if her act was fooling anybody).

“Yeah,” her voice was higher pitched than she wanted. “Yeah, you know, the city’s just a bit... stifling, and I wanted to find some room to breathe. So is there anything I could do in like, Flushing, or, or, Montana, or something?”

The more she rambled, the more Coulson wasn’t buying it. His eyes narrowed so far that he was basically squinting at this point—and the snarky part of her mind really wanted to point how this was not intimidating in the least, but thankfully common sense won out and told the snark to _shut up—_ and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“An assistant,” he responded, “to an _agent,_ ” just as disjointed as before, “wants to work in the field.”

Maybe she wasn’t being casual enough and maybe that’s why he didn’t believe her. In a last-ditch effort, she cocked her hip, hand resting there as she shrugged. “Yeah. Why not, Son of Coul?” she scoffed for good measure. “Every other agent has travelled about. Brings some experience to the workplace, right?”

This was so not working.

Phil wasn’t buying it at all. Finally, he set down the file folder in his hand—she hadn’t noticed that he had been squeezing it so hard that it had bent around his fingers, which was a horrible sign—and folded his hands on the table top. Now he was looking more like himself, but not in the way she wanted. Eyes wide, taking her in, analyzing, calculating, and even on a good day, Darcy was an open book—

“What happened after you took Agent Rogers home, Miss Lewis,” he began, his voice a dare, “to leave you sick yesterday?”

There was only a moment for her eyes to widen and for her smirk to fall before the phone on his desk began blaring. For a split second, he glanced at the call display, and frowned. After looking at Darcy one last time, he reached for the phone. It seemed like he was mad for being interrupted and had every intention of ignoring the phone, but apparently whoever was calling had been hassling him all morning and was just going to call back if he ignored it.

“Yes?” When he answered, his voice was a bit stiff. Darcy stared at it like a lifeline, hoping to god this would be something big. Maybe Phil would get called away for a meeting. Maybe there was a Code Orange. Even a Code Red, or something— _anything_ to stop this conversation right where it was so she wouldn’t have to answer. 

But a moment later his eyes were back on her, and he didn’t look any more pleased than he had been a minute ago. Darcy had to fight to keep from jumping. What was happening? Was the person on the phone... asking about _her?_

Finally, with a heavy dose of regret, he told the person on the phone, “Heading down right now,” and hung up.

The look was back, right where he left it, and he folded his hands right back before clearing his throat. There was a pregnant pause that filled the roomy office, stifling enough for Darcy to find it hard to breathe.

“Miss Potts would like your assistance down in the Stark Memorial room.”

... Oh. She could handle that. Without letting him get another word in, she saluted him, turned on her heel and hustled out the door. It didn’t matter _what_ Pepper wanted her for.

Although he _did_ raise his voice and called out after her. “This conversation isn’t over, Miss Lewis!”

“Whatever you say, boss-man!”

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**_8:47 AM_ **

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Darcy had been to the Howard Stark Memorial Room only once since she began working at the Tower, and, ironically, that time she was hiding, too, but only from work. That time, the room had been empty and she had wandered around and admired all the bronze statues and read all the plaques in pleasant silence—the glass had to be double-walled to block the street noise below—escaping to the past for a while through sepia photographs.

Today was a different story.

Tables were set and lights were strung and trees had popped up everywhere, and in spite of the imposed chaos and the hundred-some people running around like headless chickens, the completion of the setup for the Children’s Hospital event was running like a well-oiled machine, with Pepper Potts at the controls.

When the elevator doors opened, Darcy was taken aback by the hubbub at first, but she spotted Pepper, who couldn’t be a better example of tall, willowy confidence. When she approached, Pepper didn’t look exhausted or exasperated or annoyed by Darcy taking so long to get there. Instead, she smiled.

“Darcy! Just the girl I’ve been waiting on,” she said, simultaneously checking more items off on her iPad. “How’re you feeling?”

It took a second before Darcy could remember that most people at work had asked her that because she was “sick” yesterday, not because of her own personal soap-opera bullcrap. She blinked once, twice, before smiling automatically. “Better, thanks.” Wow, how come her throat was starting to close so easily? Was she not going to be able to speak to anyone without getting overwhelmed with emotion? Desperately, she cleared her throat and tried to move on. “Um, Phil said you wanted help--?”

Pepper brought her over to a corner filled with boxes, opening the tops to reveal soft-gold gift bags, small F.A.O. teddy bears with red-and-green bows, perfume bottles from Gucci and Rolexes.  Pepper apologized for the menial work, but Darcy waved it off, happy to do this because honestly, thoughtless work was _exactly_ what she wanted today.

Unfortunately she was left mostly to her own devices as she packed the gift bags and this left too much time for thinking. She found herself fondling the teddy bears, enjoying their soft fur instead of packing them away. Then she would kick it into high-gear and pack twelve bags in a minute, only to drift off again.

God, she was pretty useless, wasn’t she?

Even after the speech she gave herself that morning, she couldn’t live up to a word of it. She was so scared about seeing Clint and Steve that she was running off at the first chance she had. Why couldn’t she have stuck around and been normal? Why couldn’t she just get it over and done with when she saw Steve? It’s not like he remembered the kiss; Clint told her as much. It wasn’t as if he was going to come up and continue the conversation he started. Now the inevitable was pushed back to tomorrow and she was no better off.

Where she was working was next to the large windows, and it gave her opportunity to stare down at the streets and surrounding buildings. The gorgeousness that was Grand Central Station was right in front of her; the tell-tale green roof was still visible through the falling snow. Ahead of her was Park Avenue and 42nd Street—the same bridge where the Avengers fought for the city just a year ago. They fought, they bled, and they nearly died for humanity.

And she couldn’t even give them the decency of facing them.

Suddenly it hit her why she was taking this so hard. She wasn’t the twenty-something working in the big city right now. She wasn’t going through typical ‘boyfriend troubles’ that most girls her age complained of and brushed off.

No, she was back to being that girl in the sixth grade. She wasn’t like everyone else but she wasn’t the strangest, either; the most scandalous thing about her was that she got her breasts before everyone else. She was only teased once about it—a girl called her a ‘ho’ (as if they even knew what ‘ho’ even _meant_ at that age) and even though it was only the first time she was teased, Darcy lost it. She had grabbed the girl by the hair and shoved her into the lockers. The incident left her ex-friend with a bleeding nose, Darcy with her first suspension, and a new reputation for being such a hoodlum that her mother saw it fit to send Darcy to the next county over for middle school.

Darcy didn’t need to flip out like that, but she acted on instinct. Stupid, unreasonable instinct. Everything was fine, up until that point when she lost it. She rarely was able to pull her heart out of a situation and think with her head, and it usually screwed up the bigger picture. The locker incident wasn’t the last of its kind... something would be going good, she’d make a split-second decision because she’d get lost in a fog of emotion, and she’d ruin life for a few months. A never-ending cycle that she never figured out.

Tears burned and prickled her eyes when Darcy realized she didn’t deserve either one of the men in her life. In their own ways, both were wonderful, fantastic human beings, regardless of what flaws they saw and pushed on others. And she ruined everything that was going good in her life.

So maybe she should just stay alone.

Naturally.

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**_9:52 AM_ **

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 “Feeling better, kid?”

Darcy started so hard at Tony’s presence that she yelped and the teddy bear in her hands got tossed at the window.

While she stared wide-eyed and stiff at her over-reaction, Tony, in his usual dirty band tee-shirt and jeans, simply hummed and rocked on his heels. “Guess not?”

Quickly Darcy shuffled over and picked up the bear, petting it’s fur back and pressing a kiss to its head with an apology. “I’m fine,” she told him, hoping the edge to her voice was threatening enough for him to leave her alone. What the hell was he doing here, anyway? He looked like he usually did when he was up in his lab, tinkering away on some project with Dr. Banner. Sometimes she was sure that those two were making evil-scientist-like death rays to use on everyone who called them 'nerds' when they were growing up. They, of all people, would be able to pull it off--she suspected that the only reason they refrained from turning into supervillains was Jane's presence in the lab. 

Instead of taking the hin, the billionaire watched silently, for once, as the abused bear was placed gently into another gift bag with its new brothers, Rolex and Gucci. Darcy kept avoiding his gaze as she continued to work, as if ignoring him would bore him and he’d eventually go away.

Obviously she didn’t know Tony.

But there was something stiff and hurting in the air around her that made him respect the quiet. She was moving more methodically than he had ever seen her. Every other time he barged into her cubicle, she would be working hard but she’d be tapping her pen or humming along with the radio. That was Darcy enjoying her work—she was always humming with some kind of energy.  

This Darcy, on the other hand—she was quiet, and defeated.

Darcy had packed three more bags before Tony finally moved, but not away from her. To her surprise he stepped closer, and smoothed her hair back. The movement made her freeze but she was forced to tilt her head up when his hand carded into her hair and gently tugged. He looked at her with that same determination he had with his experiments and it seriously freaked her out that she was getting the same treatment.

“You want to hide out? Fine. No one’s going to know you’re down here. Okay?”

Darcy’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Geezus, was she that obvious? Being found out made her fearful and she hated that her bottom lip started to quiver.

In a very fatherly gesture, Tony stopped tugging her hair and smoothed it back. “Okay?” he asked once more, insistant.

It didn’t feel so much as a question; it was more that she understood that he would take care of everything. That she didn’t have to worry so much.

Once again, her throat swelled with emotion, and she managed to bite her shaking lip and nodded sharply, and with a ruffle to her hair, he was gone as fast as he appeared.  

 

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**_11:18 AM_ **

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Once the gift bags were finished, Darcy was reluctant to go back to her desk. Cowardly as it was, Tony said she’d be fine hiding there all day and she was going to milk that promise for all it’s worth. So she asked Pepper for other things to do.

She decorated a few of the remaining trees, and set up the donation boxes around the room, and finally helped set up one of the tables full of pictures from the Children’s Hospital. Unfortunately, that did her in, because she started tearing up reading some of the personal stories. Honestly, this kids still find a way to smile when they’re dealing with disease and cancer, and she can’t keep it together over some _men?_

She wasn’t aware of how close she was to tearing up until Pepper, from nowhere, came behind her and cooly informed her of the ladies washroom. “Just take a few minutes, hon.”

Darcy did her best not to sprint to it.

The door was locked, she was sitting on a toilet seat in a stall, five minutes had passed and Darcy was still dabbing her eyes with squares of toilet paper. Hell, she thought she had cried herself dry yesterday. Would she ever stop?

 

 

_“If he ever makes you cry—teammate or not, promise you’ll tell me?”_

  
_Darcy met his gaze with a start. His face wasn’t stern but his tone was as serious as he’s ever been with her. It was hard for her to nod back, hard to keep a straight face as he went back to his notebook, when every nerve was begging to ask back,_ Who am I supposed to tell when you make me cry?

“F-Fuck,” she muttered as the scene replayed in her head. She yanked some fresh paper off the roll, buried her face into it as she bent over and sobbed.

There is nothing as self-destructive as your own mind.

Or, you know, Mutant Gorillas attacking bystanders in Central Park. Because while she was crying on the crapper that damned alarm started going off. She jumped at the sound, shaken out of her woe-is-me for a moment and was pretty certain that if this toilet didn’t have a lid that she was currently sitting on, she would’ve fallen in when she jumped.

Then her day would’ve really been shitty, right?

Forgoing checking her face in the mirror for raccoon eyes, she rushed out of her stall, unlocked the bathroom door and dove out. The memorial room was emptying extremely fast, and she was about to join the rest of the fleeing employees when she noticed that Pepper had been standing guard outside the bathroom door.

With an encouraging smile, Pepper guided her towards the elevators. “Now I can get my second chance at beating you at Scrabble. C’mon.”

The first one that reached them was full of Stark employees; Pepper held Darcy back. When the doors closed, Pepper explained; “It’s better if the Stark employees don’t know where gals like you and I go during alarms.”

Made enough sense. Lucky for them, the next elevator only had Natasha and Clint.

Well, ‘only’ was an easy word.

Darcy eyed them warily, heart in her throat, but Clint and Natasha were staring at the control panels, completely confused. There’s an override code that the Avengers and hi-level SHIELD agents had to ignore calls for the lift during an emergency.

“Apologies, Agent Barton and Agent Romanov,” JARVIS said, “But considering Miss Potts and Miss Lewis also have to reach at the lower levels—“

“Get in,” Natasha said, gesturing to the women. “We’re gone in three minutes.”

Well, that left no time to be awkward. Pepper pressed in and pushed Darcy along with her, although Darcy at least made the conscious effort to stand on the far side of the elevator.

Darcy couldn’t hear the alarms anymore. She tried to think outside of the elevator. Outside of the box. Is this what that expression meant? Removing yourself from a situation for better understanding—or even if you just need a moment to breathe?

He watched her. She knew he was—she could feel it.

All she wanted to do was disappear. It had been her decision, all of this—she shouldn’t be the one crying. Yet here she was, bawling like a baby.

God, could this elevator be any slower?

Natasha effectively elbowed Clint in the ribs, enough for him to cover up a grunt by clearing his throat. The archer glared at her until she nodded towards the girl in the corner with a very, very harsh glare. A glare that Clint stupidly mirrored.

“Tell her,” Natasha growled.

Considering the harsh tone, everyone stared at her, and Darcy nearly jumped when she realized Natasha kept nodding her way. Oh god, tell her what? Not here, not in front of other people—

Clint sighed heavily, looking skyward, and said, quite begrudgingly, “So when I was affected by the drunk gas, I grabbed Natasha’s breasts, squeezed them and said honka honka.”

Wait.

“ _What_?” Pepper said exactly what Darcy was thinking, but they were both gaping at the assassins they shared an elevator with. When neither denied the story, Pepper could only scoff. “My god, Clint,  I would’ve killed you!”

“I’m grateful that she opted to knock me out instead,” Clint replied without sounding grateful at all—more like tired and done with it. He did catch Darcy’s eye though, looking as hopeful as possible.

And Darcy couldn’t help the giggle that emitted her throat before she stared at the elevator doors again.

Okay, so maybe she could be normal around one of the guys again. This was good. He threw her a total bone, but it was better than nothing.

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_**2:15 PM** _

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So the Mutated Gorilla problem turned out to be more of a wrangling mission than a stop-before-it-destroys-the-city type mission. That being said, it took a hell of a lot longer. Subduing them took effort, and Hulk and Thor were not enough to control them. A lot of help came from Hawkeye, to be honest; once he was airborne in a chopper with some effective sedative on his arrows, it was like shooting fish in a barrel.

Tony fetched the folks from the Blue Room—right when Jane and Darcy were in the middle of Hungry-Hungry-Hippos—reporting that everyone was more or less fine. He instructed Jane to draw Thor a bubble bath because he deserved it, and the glare the astro-physicist threw the billionaire could only be classified as venomous. Christ, what did Tony do to get on her bad side?

“Wanna catch a late lunch?” Jane offered to Darcy.

Thankfully, considering Jane already knew everything, she was probably the one person she’s seen all day that hasn’t given her the urge to run and hide. It was very relaxing. Maybe this was just because Jane was making a conscious effort to distract Darcy in every possible way, but regardless, the effort was making a difference.

But just as Darcy was about to take her up on the offer, a booming voice came from behind them.

“Darcy! Are you feeling better?”

Darcy turned just in time to be scooped into a hug from her favorite thunder god. It was all with good intentions, the attention he gave her. Most of the time she considered him a big brother, and he regarded her like a sister. It was completely normal for him to wonder about her health. This meant that Jane really didn’t tell her boyfriend everything, which Darcy had certainly accused her of the in the past, and that was reassuring. She had someone that wasn’t judging her at all for her situation.

Though she could only just see over his shoulder—he was holding her a decent foot off the ground—she could instantly make out the mop of blond hair that belonged to an Avenger that had a very spangley outfit.

Panic coursed through her veins. She just wanted to run off. Like, right now.

“Um, I’m okay,” she told Thor, voice a tad shakey. “Can you put me down? I’m nauseous.” She wasn’t lying.

Without protest, Thor set her back to her feet, and when she saw his face he was concerned. “Are you sure you’re better? You look pale.”

Oh, fantastic. Again, he was all about good intentions, but she didn’t need him to broadcast her misery. Her shaking hands and tear-stained makeup was doing fine on it’s own.

“Yeah, you know,” she avoided his gaze, dipping her head, letting her brown hair fall in her face as she started to step back, “I’m not really feeling much better. I’ve been thinking about going home. Maybe I will.” Her steps were a bit more determined, and she started to pivot.  “And since we’ve got the green-light, I’m gonna go home. Thanks for saving the day again, and everything!”

She hustled to the elevators as fast as possible. So fast that she rode all the way back up to her floor all alone. Once she got back to her floor, she made for her cubicle—at least she knew the Avengers would be in debrief for another half-hour. That gave her enough time to write a note to Phil, to gather her wits and to get the hell out of the Tower.

Then she could spend the rest of the day figuring out of Plan B involved her even staying in New York anymore.

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T _ **O BE CONTINUED IN 'THE TEAM THAT CARES FOR HER IN VERY DIFFERENT WAYS AND THEIR NO-GOOD, VERY BAD DAY'... posting soon.**_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this chapter had both 'no-good, very bad days' but that ended up being 10,000 words and I feel like I should be helping you guys breathe more. Because at the rate I'm killing you all, I won't have any fans left. Next chapter should be up in 2-3 days; just proofing it! :-) Again, thank you all for your support! Sorry if this seems like filler.


	10. The No-Good, Very Bad Day (Pt. II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to merideathislost for reading this over. It all started looking Greek to me @.@

**_THE TEAM THAT CARES FOR HER IN DIFFERENT WAYS AND THEIR NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY (UP UNTIL 2:37 PM)_ **

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**_AGENT_ **

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With fresh coffee in one hand and daily reports in the other, Phil heads towards his office feeling pretty good about the day ahead. There were no high-priority meetings, no evil terrorists plots to foil (as far as S.H.I.E.L.D. was concerned), and for once, someone hadn’t eaten the last sour cream donut in the break room before he could get to it. He was caught up on his paperwork and Tony hadn’t bothered him and/or blown up any S.H.I.E.L.D. property in at least three days. Obviously the lack of weight on his shoulders gave him a spring in his step that he would never admit to, but honestly, Phil was happy.

And that was when it all started going downhill.

First, when he reached his assistant’s cubicle, he found her missing. It was odd, but not completely strange. She did call in sick yesterday—maybe she was still recovering. Nonetheless, Darcy was always at her desk before he reached his every morning. It was one of the marks of her being a reliable assistant, and one of the reasons why he put up with her sass.

What _was_ odd was that there was an Avenger sitting in her place.

Phil stopped short at the entrance of her cubicle, falling back on his heel just as he tilted his head quizzically. “Captain Rogers?”

Steve had been fiddling with the Rubik’s cube from Darcy’s desk and dropped it when Phil appeared. After getting it back on her desk—only after dropping it twice more—Steve stood at attention. “Morning, Agent Coulson,” he replied, trying to act nonchalant and doing a bad job of it. For one thing, he kept smoothing his hair back and straightening his clothes when there was nothing out of place.

Captain America should not be fidgety.

Phil narrowed his eyes warily. “Are you alright?”

Steve cleared his throat, only for his voice to sound further strained. “Fine, fine—just waiting for Darcy.”

Phil hummed in response, trying not to think too hard about the captain’s reaction. Every Avenger had an off day once in a while—who was he to judge? “I’m not sure that she’s in today,” he admitted, about to turn towards his office and be on his merry way, but stopping short. “Which reminds me,” he pondered.

Without meaning to, the hand holding his coffee pointed at the captain, more thoughtful than accusing, but Steve couldn’t take his eyes off that pointing finger. It was very accusatory.

“The reports from the subway incident indicate that Mr. Stark and Agent Barton both experienced heightened libido while they were intoxicated, but your report did not. I’m assuming that, like the others, you don’t remember, but then again, considering you have the super-serum in your system, you may be exempt from the memory loss _and_ the libido ‘problem.’”

Phil tilted his head again, very innocently since this is more about curiosity and prevention than anything else. “Have you considered having Dr. Banner run some tests to see how your blood reacts to different sedatives? The information could be useful in future cases.”

Phil was hoping the captain would be open to the idea and not offended by the suggestion of being a lab rat. The response he got instead was completely unexpected.

Steve Rogers slowly turned pink from the neck up, all the way to the tips of his ears. He cleared his throat, scrubbed his fingers through his hair and looked away.

Captain America should _not_ be _fidgety._

“Um,” and his _voice_ cracked, “you know, I haven’t—lemme go see him right now.”

Steve turned on his heel as if he couldn’t get away fast enough, ducking down the aisles and out of sight.

 _Oh well. At least he was going to Banner._ Phil sipped his coffee and went to his office, where he would sit, work on some new files, and be pleasant in general, until his assistant would arrive and ask if she, a plain office worker, could do time out in the field. It wasn't until that moment that he really considered what part of his suggestion made Captain Steve Rogers react like he’d been caught with his pants down.

Whatever it was, it was effecting Darcy Lewis as well.

From there, his day continued its downhill tumble from Pretty Good to Utter Shit.

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**_BILLIONAIRE PHILANTHROPISTS_ **

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“Tell Clint to stop stealing the liquor for my events.”

Tony frowned, thinking he had been called away from his lab to approve MORE last-minute costs for the Hospital Event thing, (because there were _always_ last-minute costs) and instead, Pepper was pissed. Thankfully it was at Clint and not him. Honestly? It was kind of nice to see the hate not directed at himself, for once.

“Um,” Tony started, but she didn’t look to be in a gaming mood. Rather than make a quip, he decided to play nice. “Okay. I’ll let him know you’re on to him.”

Pepper still looked sour. “Tell him I’ve been on to him for the last six months. Tell him he owes me four bottles of pinot gris and three of Cristal.”

Tony smirked. Geeze, Barton's on a roll. There aren't that many other women in the Tower to piss off.

Nonetheless, it was his own responsibility to make this woman happy, so without the usual air of annoyance, Tony took the iPad and gave her a kiss on her nose and signed whatever the hell she needed without question. It may have been a cheesy gesture, but at least she looked less sour.

"You're doing a lovely job, babe."

"Oh shut up; I'm still mad."

Maybe, but there was a ghost of a grin on her lips.

Tony looked around and stifled his sneer at the silver and gold Christmas trees. "I'd tell you that even if you weren't mad."  

And that’s when he caught sight of one of the other 'rare females.'

This girl kept her back turned, focused on her very important work of teddy bears, watches and gift bags. Unlike the other peons running about, she hadn't budged since Tony entered the room. He didn't mean to sound narcissistic, but c'mon, most people stared when he went anywhere. This time around, though, he couldn't stop staring at Darcy Lewis.

He watched her spend half a minute packing a bag, and then looked out the window for another minute. Maybe it was the cold, grey light from outside that made her skin seem paler, or maybe she was still feeling sick from yesterday--either way, she was noticeably dimmer.

And then she’d bite her lip and look back to her work. She was there physically, but not in spirit.

Considering all the theorizing that happened yesterday, Tony couldn’t resist giving Pepper a pointed look--once Pepper finally felt him staring, he nodded in the girl's direction. Pepper only grimaced in reply.

“Did she say anything?”

Pepper frowned. “Leave her alone.”

“If Clint’s stealing booze, does it mean they broke up last night and he was drowning his sorrows?”

“I have no idea and I’m not about to ask her. And you shouldn’t, either.”

“I’m just gonna have a quick chat.”

“ _Tony_ —“

Pepper protested and made a grab for him, but he was already out of reach, moving even faster than usual. Could he blame his curiosity on his natural scientific-equation-solving abilities? Maybe--or maybe he was just damn nosey and wasn’t going to apologize for it. Either way, he was going to have a chat with Darcy Lewis.

It was obvious the moment Darcy stepped off the elevator to meet her that something was wrong. The problem was that as much as Pepper wanted to pry, Darcy and her weren't all that close. They had 'girl talk' time in the Blue Room last week, and their last deep conversation was in the board room a few days ago. The last time Pepper and Darcy were on the topic of Clint, Pepper had suggested they have 'the talk' and even went on to say Tony thought Darcy was better off with Steve. She _hated_ herself for that--it wasn't her life or any of her business. So, when the sullen Darcy came off the elevator this morning, Pepper felt as if Darcy's state of mind was her fault, and didn't trust herself to speak up again.

Which is _exactly_ why she didn't want Tony interfering.

The iPad in her hands flashed with new notifications, emails and alerts, but Pepper ignored it all. She just watched Tony and Darcy, from when the girl threw the teddy bear to when Tony ruffled her hair.

Eventually Tony turned and started back to the elevators—and what surprised her more than anything was how angry he looked.

Pepper took a step back as he approached; normally she’d give him a smooch, or similar, to reward him for dragging himself away from his toys to come to her aid, but at the moment, he was _radiating_ rage. She furrowed her brow and frowned when he was close enough. “What is it?”

Tony barely met her gaze and kept for the elevator. “I’ve got to go kick Rogers’ ass.”

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**_SCIENCE & ASSASINS_ **

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Think about washing the dishes. Dip the sponge into the water. The sponge is wet, heavy and full of life. Now wring that sponge out. It loses colour, essence, feels spotty, full of holes and dried up.  His older brother told him that _that_ was what a hangover was like...

...but did Clint ever listen?

Nope--which is why, last night, he finished that whole bottle of wine, half of Natasha's bottle of vodka _and_ four beers without a second thought to how he'd feel in the morning.

“For the last time,” Bruce stated, keeping his voice at a soft level of out empathy (changing back from the Other Guy felt similar to a hangover most of the time), “I’m a scientist, not a doctor, so let’s not make this a habit.”

Clint—eyes tightly shut, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep, controlling breath—could only manage a slow nod of approval. “Same on this side.”

Clint shifted uncomfortably on the stainless steel countertop, overwhelmed with nostalgia. He felt like a kid who'd been dragged to the paediatrician for a booster shot. It didn't help that Natasha was hovering nearby with her arms crossed, the perfect image of a disappointed mother. She drank half of that vodka, too, last night, and was _fine_ today _._ She was also the one who woke him at five in the morning for training, looking perky as a daisy.

Bitch.

"It might not even help, you know."

Clint looked over at the other lab space at the woman he was trying to avoid eye-contact with. Jane had an easier job doing so; as usual, she was hunched over her desk, analyzing computer data as if the others weren't in the room. It wasn't as if Jane had done anything wrong to him or vice versa--it was the embarrassment of her seeing the side-effects of his break-up.

Jane hadn't even looked up as she continued to jot notes while she read her computer screen. "It could flush right through your system--you're better off popping some Aspirin and waiting it out."

"It's done wonders for me after I've... 'hulked out,'" Bruce offered helpfully. "It's worth a shot. Roll your sleeve up."

Jane simply shrugged.

Bruce finished loading up a shot of vitamin B12, set it aside, and opened a rubbing alcohol swab from its packet once Clint rolled his shirt up. Just as he started the injection, Bruce asked, "So did Natasha challenge you to a drinking contest, or do I not want to know?"

Clint didn't _dare_ look over in Jane's direction. If he had his say, no one would know.

"Pretty much," Natasha suddenly answered for him with a hint of a grin, effectively misdirecting.

Clint kept his eyes shut and slowly let a breath out while the injection was made--fun fact: Clint has never liked needles--before answering. "Don't you ever get piss drunk after a bad day, doc?"

Rather than correct his improper terminology, Bruce started disposing the materials, snapping his rubber gloves off when he was done and once Clint opened his eyes he saw the bitter grin on his tired features. "More than you think, Barton."

Fragments of the conversation he had with Natasha came back to Clint's mind. Everyone has their way of dealing with their issues and their bad days. "You should join us, next time."

The suggestion caught the scientist off-guard. He was just sliding over to his computer, about to immerse himself back into the project he had been working on when the two assassins came in, but his movements stopped short. Slowly, Bruce stared forward, then at Clint, who tried to seem as open and inviting as possible in spite of his headache. The hesitant stare shifted to Natasha; and surprisingly, she smiled. It was completely sincere. This wasn't about just getting drunk for the hell of it--he knew this was an invitation for the bad days. When he usually wanted to be alone.

He was too used to being alone.

It wasn't exactly working.

Finally, Bruce's fingers clenched around his clipboard once again, and he nodded slowly. "I'll think about it."

"You should," Natasha replied, still smiling.

Cool, Clint thought. First group therapy session established.

Just as he was already debating how to make sure Tony stayed out of said therapy sessions, the man in question was speed-walking down the hallway beside the lab. Clint, along with Bruce and Natasha, all looked up as they caught the movement out of the corner of their eyes. The billionaire had his fist clinched, clearly on a mission. He only stared at them though the glass for a moment before stopping short, doubling back and ducking his head through the door. “Have any of you seen Rogers?”

Everyone shook their heads, innocently enough, but Bruce spoke up. "He was here this morning--Coulson wanted me to analyze some blood samples."

Tony frowned. Clearly this wasn't the information he was looking for. He ducked back out of the room as fast as he came.

Nobody in the room wanted to say ‘what’s his problem’ for their own reasons. First, Bruce wasn’t about to get involved in anything Tony was angry or determined about. The last time he was dragged into one of Tony’s ‘crusades,’ he ended up being part of a _very_ embarrassing argument with Nick Fury because Tony needed uranium "because of reasons."  Secondly, Natasha had worked as Tony's faux-assistant long enough to know that whatever he was doing was typical and wouldn't even be entertaining, by her standards. Thirdly, well, Clint was hung-over and would rather not deal with all of that.

But a few seconds later, it wouldn't matter. The alarm sounded. They were being called out. The speakers in the lab roared to life, asking Dr. Banner to Hulk out _fast_ and ordering Natasha and Clint to load up in the armoury in the basement before heading out.

The Avengers jumped on their respective elevators and the two assassins began working on going to that place all the assassins go to make the shot. It's a place deep in their minds of focus, concentration, a surprising amount of calm, and confidence. Real life had to be put on hold because there may not be a real life to come back to. All that mattered was the shot.

And just as Clint was sinking into his head-space, the elevator doors opened to Pepper and Darcy.

And crap, she was _scared_ to look at him. Anyone who didn't know her could brush off the look in her eyes as nerves reacting to the threat alert, but Clint knew her, and she was _scared_ to see him. Those blue eyes were dark with worry and suddenly they were out of his sight when she ducked her head and was shoved onto the elevator. The doors closed and they were falling again.

She stood as far away from him as possible.

_That impeccable sight of his, having missed everything that was_ _so obvious_ _to everyone else, refused to miss a moment now. He saw her messy hair, he saw her nervous fingers pick at her sleeves, and as she shuffled back and forth on her feet. Most importantly—and worst of all—he saw the makeup smudged around her bloodshot eyes._

No matter how shitty he felt about it all, this was killing her.

Clint was brought out of his thoughts when Natasha elbowed him harshly in the ribs. He tried not to wince and glared at her, just as she stared pointedly at the girl in the corner. Clint glared back-- _yeah, her, that's the girl I was dating, what are you getting at?--_ completely confused until she growled at him: "Tell her."

... Oh. That.

Suddenly he had the entire attention of the elevator and to be quite frank, Clint performed well under pressure, but it was hard to do that when it was a group of women he admired that were staring him down. He sighed in defeat and scrubbed his hand over his face; this story was making his headache come back.

“So when I was affected by the drunk gas, I grabbed Natasha’s breasts, squeezed them and said honka honka.”

Darcy's eyes went wide with shock and awe, and Pepper chastised him, but he was focused on the former. He told her it could be normal, and this is what normal was; sharing stories. Being friends. This was a possibility. Would she see that?

And thankfully her lips turned up, her eyes shut a bit, crinkling with laughter before she turned back to the doors again.

Not much... but at least she wasn't crying anymore.

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**_IRON & THUNDER_ **

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.

The whole Mutated Gorilla incident had to be one of the most annoying and frustrating missions in his history at S.H.I.E.L.D. but it was nothing compared to the awkwardness that followed.

Clint volunteered to be part of the Hulk recon team--mostly because the majority of the gorilla-wrangling fell on his and the scientists' shoulders, and hey, maybe this would be the perfect opportunity for them to vent some frustrations. So while Clint took off in a jet towards Cape Cod (the Other Guy seems to like the beach, for some reason) the rest of the team was back in the Tower getting stitched up.

Tony beat them all back to base--because, duh, suit--and didn't have to get clearance from medical, either--again, _suit_ \--so he had done all of the friends-and-family group a favour by fetching them. He tried not to watch Darcy so closely, because in spite of appearances he did realize that maybe she doesn't want all her dirty laundry hung in front of the whole team. At least this time around he was happy to report that she seemed better than earlier; her skin was a bit brighter and she was smirking a bit.

In effort to stop mothering over the kid, Tony greeted his own girl with a kiss and looked at Jane. "You should get a bubble bath or something ready for Thunder-Thighs," he suggested. "Maybe a little red wine or some mead--he worked his ass off today."

The glare Jane gave him made him wonder what on earth or Asgard he could have done to make her so mad at him.

Could be that she saw him as competition for her man.

She needs to tone down her jealously. Or have more faith in her man.

After glaring him down, Jane turned to Darcy and suggested they go get a late lunch--and Tony thought that was a marvellous idea. Getting out of the Tower and getting some fresh air would be good for the kid.

(Note to self: stop calling Darcy a kid. But that's for another day.)

Anyways, Tony ushered everyone out of the room--he gave Happy an extremely apologetic look, as Tony had been informed as of late, that the Blue Room had turned into a therapeutic girl gab fest and it was really, really awful to sit through it for hours on end--and thought everyone was in the clear for the day, until Thor rounded the corner.

He greeted Darcy loudly--she is, after all, his favourite person besides Jane--and scooped her up in his ridiculous arms, and that's when Tony saw the exchange.

Darcy looked over Thor's shoulder at Steve Roger's spangley outfit and froze up.

Next thing Tony knew, Darcy was scurrying off, feigning relapse of her illness and looking paler than ever.

Thor frowned and he looked back from where she disappeared to everyone else. "Poor girl--still ill from yesterday?"

Jane sighed and slipped her hand into her boyfriend’s, squeezing tightly. The gesture had the thunder god stare down and meet her eyes. There's an unspoken language that every couple has; it's made through hand and fingers and mouth and eyes. What passed through Jane's gaze to Thor's was a warning that things were not alright, but they would speak later. All Thor did in reply was frown and squeeze her hand back, before subtly suggesting that they go and feast.

And Steve suddenly stormed off to the locker room.

Well, that was the final straw for Tony.

_._

_._

_._

**_THE SOLDIER_ **

_._

_._

_._

The locker room was empty, which was the best Steve had hoped for as he burst into it and caused an embarrassing amount of noise. He needed to hold it together, damn it--and throwing a fit like the one he was now wasn't going to help him out at all.

Once the door swung shut behind him and he saw no one following, Steve let himself sink onto the bench near his locker. ('Locker' seemed a strange word; it was basically a cubby hole/display case for it uniform. When everyone had their respective suits in their own lockers at the same time, the locker room looked more like a memorial hall.) He set his shield aside and leaned against his knees and brushed his hands through his hair as he tried to calm down with some long, deep and controlled breathes. The water bottle he left earlier was still there; he grabbed for it and tried to hydrate.

As refreshing as it was, the moment soured when the door banged open again and someone yelled.

Steve choked on his water and managed to set the bottle down before he coughed up a lung. After slapping his chest a few times, he turned around to see who burst in and sighed angrily. "Now isn't a good time, Stark--"

“Don't make me ask again," the billionaire warned as he stood before him, defiance in his eyes.

What? He hadn't even heard the question. He didn't care about the question. Steve glared at Tony, already fed up with the day, tired from the god damn gorillas, and he didn't have the energy or patience to deal with Stark's I've-always-had-money-so-I-always-get-what-I-want mentality. He really didn't. It took the last of Steve's patience to not reach for his shield and knock the billionaire out. Instead, he rose to his feet, hoped their obvious height difference would be intimidating enough to shut him up.

Unfortunately, it didn't. This was no better than the first time the soldier and billionaire fought. The biggest problem with the two of them was that they were both equally stubborn.

When Steve only stared, Tony's eyes narrowed a fraction.

“What the hell happened between you and Darce?” he demanded.

What?

That was enough to knock Steve down a few notches. Steve’s eyes widened at the suggestion. He'd been so pissed off that he hadn't considered that Tony's tantrum would be about... _that,_ and unfortunately his facade faltered as a result.

“I don’t—“ he began, but Tony cut him off.

“God damn it, Rogers,” Tony snapped, “we all know that I was a perv under the influence, and apparently Barton did something to Romonav—and no, I don’t want to know—but the fact is that you probably did something, too. And now she's running from the sight of you. What the _fuck_ did you do?”

The anger over the invasion of his privacy was long gone and now Captain America was gaping like a fish, unable to form the words. “What—has Darcy--?’

“She won’t say a thing but she’s wandering around like a lost puppy and Barton, apparently, got drunk last night.” While Steve looked away, taking this information in and trying to process it, Tony was getting more impatient. “Fine. You don’t remember. Whatever. But look, the first thing you’re going to do is tell Clint.”

Steve jerked at that. “What? Wouldn’t it be better if—“

“No, idiot. Guy Code says you tell your friends when you’ve fucked up,” Tony cut him off and that’s when he hit his limit. Instead of looking angrier, he actually looked sad and genuinely upset. This was completely unexpected and now Steve was completely lost.

“I owned up to Jane and she's rightfully mad at me. Clint and Natasha, well, they're squared up and she hasn't killed him yet, but they've at least fucking talked about it."

Tony slowly started to step away, as if he couldn't stand being around him any longer, but he kept pleading. “It’s great that you’ve got a friend. It’s great that you aren’t moping around the Tower anymore. Hell, it’d be great if you and Darcy _were_ together, because fuck, Cap, she’s _perfect_ for you—but you’re not. You waited too long or you kept it too proper or whatever—she’s with Clint. And yeah, you were drunk, or under the influence or whatever—but _guys don’t make a move on their friends’ girls._ ”When he reached the door, Tony let out a huge sigh and shook his head. "Damn it, Steve, this team is finally working together—we don’t need it to fall apart because your libido finally woke up after 70 years.”

More than the time they fought on the Hellicarrier, more than the time in the subway with the robots, more than any other mission he’d seen him, Tony never came across as more serious to Steve.

And Steve never felt more like a child.

“You and Clint work this out,” Tony ordered, “or so help me, I’m coming after you with my repulsor beams.”

 

_**TBC....** _

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just remember:
> 
> \--> All mistakes are my own. (Meri mainly did a sanity check for me ;-; bless her)
> 
> \--> The vitamin B12 thing can be a complete crock of shit. I don't even know. I've heard it's useless in helping hangovers, and on the other hand, I have some guy friends that swear by it when they're hangover. I've never tried it myself. Don't take my advice about it. (Although it's actually really hard to overdose on vitamin B12 so I doubt you'd hurt yourself, but consider this the official disclaimer that I AM NOT A DOCTOR AND YOU SHOULD ONLY TAKE VITAMIN B12 AS RECOMMENDED.)
> 
> Next chapter will be up in minutes. And I MEAN that this time.


	11. The No-Good, Very Bad Day (Pt. III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to merideathislost for conducting a sanity check on my chapters! Enjoy!

_"I guess I just lost my balance._  
I think that the worst part of it all wasn't losing him.  
It was losing me."

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Darcy's purse was packed, a thoroughly bullshitted note was on Phil's desk and her email inbox was cleared out and dealt with. Now all she had to do was slip on her jacket and run out the door.

Where to? She still has no idea, so stop asking.

Admittedly, doing the menial office tasks for a few minutes helped calm her nerves. Being back in her cubicle for a mere twenty minutes was enough to prove that she had a knack for this, and that she wasn’t a useless, pathetic person (at work, anyway. everywhere else is questionable). She was a damned good assistant.

She kind of wished her brain would stop booby-trapping herself into misery. This rollercoaster of emotion was getting annoying. She wasn’t leaving New York. She wasn’t quitting her job. She was allowed to be emotional but she also had to be a professional.

The newest phase of Plan B was now in effect. First stage? To stop being so melodramatic. 

Most of the employees were back at their desks when Darcy was leaving, but she didn’t care to look if they were staring. There was no need. This was a new calm. She would head home, get off at the stop before her apartment to pick up a latte from Starbucks, and keep up the no melodrama.

Good thing she was in the right mood when the elevators opened to Steve Rogers.

Back in his civilian clothes, the good captain looked up and literally perked up at the sight of her. He had been leaning against the back wall, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, but stood straight just as she stared wide-eyed at him. “Darcy!”

The familiar bubble of panic started freezing her nerves, urging her to run—but no-melodrama was still working strong. So she stepped into the elevator and was as non-stiff as she could manage.

“Hi, Steve,” she replied (and silently cheered when she didn’t sound fake). “How’re you feeling?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him blink, taken aback by the question. She tried her best to keep playing it cool by watching the numbers on the elevator screen as they slowly descended to the ground floor.

“Um, fine,” he responded, and the confusion was present in his voice, “—but I was about to ask how you’re—“

“Good. Fine. Speedy recovery,” she cut him off as they reached the 20th floor. Seemed like no one else would be joining them for their ride, so she had to fill the silence herself. “Drank a gallon of Neocitran and I’ve never been better. But,” and after a moment of brilliant thinking, she attempted to clear her throat but coughed harshly instead, “Ugh, I’ve been feeling like crap. Relapsing. I think I’m going to take off early. Besides, we get early days when mutants attack, right?”

She laughed.

It was so forced. She thought it would help and the second she started it, she hated herself.

The Calm Fairy was fading away and panic started taking control of her motor functions. _Okay, make some eye contact. That will help keep things feeling human in here._

Oh, no it did not—she could only manage to look up at Steve for a few seconds before looking back to the doors. Nothing, not her Inner Calmness or her Panic Mode or her Plan B could have warned her that it would be so hard to stare into those eyes after they stared with such desire two days ago.

She didn’t expect it to make her knees weak.

_ABORT ABORT ABORT—_

Darcy swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “So I have to take off. Catch you soon? Cool. Bye!”

And the second the doors opened, she was off like a shot.

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_No apologies, he'll never see you cry_   
_Pretend he doesn't know that he's the reason why_   
_You're drowning, you're drowning, you're drowning_

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He followed her.

He had to. After looking in her eyes and seeing how shook up she was, how could he not? She was his best friend. He didn't have that many in this new and scary world, and she wasn't okay. He had to follow her.

He had been on his way to see Clint, thoroughly guilted into it by Tony but without any idea of how he could start such a conversation, but Darcy got onto his elevator.

Whatever Steve had been thinking was gone. His only focus was her.

Darcy may be small but that meant she was quick to dodge and dart through the crowds. Steve had a harder time and bumped shoulders with many pedestrians along the way, earning him some curses and glares, but he didn't care. He had to follow that black hat she shoved on her head as soon as she got outside into the crisp December air. A few snowflakes swirled past Steve in the wind; he wished he was wearing a warmer coat, but he pushed down his discomfort of the cold and kept following her.

"Darcy!" Steve finally shouted, wondering if it would be enough. Unfortunately she didn't look his way--he didn't know if this meant she was ignoring him or if she genuinely hadn't heard him.

Thankfully he was catching up though; and if she was ignoring him? He had to make his words count.

"I'm sorry!"

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_No apologies, he'll never see you cry  
Pretend he doesn't know that he's the reason why_

 

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Now _that_ Darcy had not been expecting.

The girl had been so focused on keeping her head down/trying not to bump into people as she blinked through her tears that she wasn't expecting an... an _apology._ Or for Steve to follow her. But... an _apology_?

After recovering from a faulty step, Darcy stopped, slowly turned around, and frowned as she tilted her head. "Come again?" She wasn't being snarky--she was honestly perplexed as to what the boy wonder had done to be sorry about. She was the one ignoring him. She was the one being curt and cold. What was he...?

Steve looked so bothered right now, like his feathers were ruffled out of place or a cat with its fur standing on-end. He eyed the folks walking around them warily before stepping closer to her. With a great sigh, and a lot of exasperation, he exclaimed again, "I'm sorry, okay?"

Darcy kept blinking up at him. "Steve, what...?"

Now he started to flush with frustration, and he ducked his head to say in a quieter tone, "If I had known you'd avoid me like this, drunk or not, I wouldn't have said anything. Hell, I _wasn't_ going to say anything. I just... I'm sorry."

The pieces of the puzzles slowly fell together, and as they did, the further her eyes widened, the more her jaw dropped, and the faster her heart beat and, ultimately, the more embarrassed she felt.

She swallowed hard, gasping for air, before whispering, "You... You remember."

When he didn't deny it, Darcy started hyperventilating.

Oh god.

Darcy's hand grasped out and hit the brick of the building beside them, just so she could lean on something. "You remember?!" Now her voice was shrill, erratic. She glared at the people staring as they passed. _Just your average crazy person having a meltdown, move along, please._

Steve grimaced and made to touch her elbow, but she jerked away from him, only for him to gesture towards the alleyway beside them. The harder she was breathing, the more obvious it became that maybe, just maybe, they should have a bit of privacy, and unfortunately the space between this deli shop and drug store was as good as it could get right now. At least there weren't SHIELD cameras trained on them.

Darcy stepped into the alley a few feet, and tried not to pace, but her skin felt too tight for her. "You... You said in your report that you didn't remember! Nobody else remembered anything!" Darcy pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, pressing hard, trying to draw the pressure elsewhere from her aching chest.

Problem was she couldn't see how mad Steve was with himself, which may have helped her anxiety. Instead he kept clenching his jaw and avoiding her gaze as he turned an ashamed shade of pink. "I went along with what Clint and Tony said," he murmured, feeling a coward, "because I thought it would make it easier for you."

Darcy didn’t budge. Well, she backed up into the brick wall and leaned against it as the weight of the situation fell on her. Still, she covered her eyes.

It bothered him that he couldn’t look at her straight; she was more expressive through her eyes than she thought he was. But like this, Steve was running blind.

He sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair, chickening out by staring at his shoes. "Look, Darce—I’m not an idiot. I know you're with Clint right now--and I'd never break up someone's relationship by being selfish. I just,” he paused, swallowing hard, and he wasn’t as strong as he was a second ago.

“... You're my only friend, Darcy. I don't want to lose you because I messed up one night.”

She still hadn’t budged. After laying everything out before her.

Everything started to feel cold and not from the snow.

Guess he had her answer then, right?

Steve resisted the urge to sigh, the urge to run off like he wanted to after his pride had taken such a hit. He wasn't able to stop his feet from turning towards the entrance to the alley, willing to leave her be if that's what she wanted. He swallowed hard and managed to get some last words out.

“I won't tell him,” he murmured.

Darcy's shoulders shook momentarily—a laugh? Or a scoff?  

It was a bit late to offer such a favour; Clint knew it all anyway and it didn't save her relationship with him. Darcy couldn't help the horribly bitter laugh that escaped her.

Her voice was tiny.  "I never thought you would.”

Wait--he hadn't expected the tone she had. Gingerly, he dipped his head, trying to see her face, but to no avail; her hair was covering any glimpse he could get. "Darcy,” he hesitated. “... Are you crying?"

"W-what do you mean, 'being selfish'?"

Oh geeze, he was going to have to lay everything out, wasn't he? But by doing so, he'd probably lose her again. It would almost be better if she was still avoiding him; at least he wouldn't have to bare everything.

Steve scrubbed the back of his neck, having a hard time with the words. "I.... I wasn't lying. I .... " he sighed, his voice dropping down.

"Darcy I think I fell for you the first time you smiled at me."

Her shoulders shook again.

"And I _have_ thought about kissing you."

He was losing her. It was all over.

"But everyone knows how great you are, and I wasn't sure if I was reading too much into it, and I was sure I was--I must have--when you started dating Clint... So I told myself to let it be. And I'm sorry you found out that way. The last... " he stopped to catch his breath, because this was honestly the part that bothered him the most.

"The last thing I would ever want to do is force myself on you Darcy. I am so, so sorry. And I get it if you don't want to be around me anymore; I completely understand. You... You just needed to know how sorry I am."

The second he finished talking, her hands fell away, right as she took a huge gulp of air, and god, she _had_ been crying. Her makeup, while light most days, was streaked with tears, her eyes red, lips swollen from biting them.

As his heart broke a bit while watching her, she kept her eyes on the ground, shaking her head while she sniffled. He was such a jerk, doing this to her. Why couldn't he leave well enough alone?

"Y-You're," her voice caught before she could finish. "You deserve so much better than me, Steve."

What?

She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve, sniffling ungraciously again. "Y-You need a lady who's str-strong, and smart; and professional, and super-model skinny—like, look at Pepper, or even, even Jane," she was full-on rambling now. "Those, those are _Ladies_ , _that_ 's what an Avenger should date, and damn it, Steve, I'm such a kid, and you're such an amazing guy, you're so sweet and you deserve better than me, and I told myself that weeks ago but _I'm_ the horrible one dating someone else when I just, I can't, I can't get over you--"

Through the four feet of the alley, with that same calm on his face as two days ago, he suddenly took back the part about not wanting to be selfish. He wanted her _so_ badly, and as a strange twist of fate he hadn't expected...

Well, she wanted him too.

Darcy wasn't done talking when she wiped her eyes and looked up at him, but his expression stopped her words short. He looked oddly calm--no, actually, he wore the same look he had two night ago. It was the look she couldn't forget: a heavy stare, parted lips and he looked her over with such want.

Suddenly she wants to go back in time to a month ago when she was sitting at her desk feeling mopey about Steve. She wants to grab _To Kill A Mockingbird_ and slap her past self over the head with it. Because she was wrong. So wrong.

He _did_ want her. She saw it in his eyes--she's never felt more wanted in her life.

Steve closed the distance between them in two steps and bent down, pressing his mouth squarely over hers. Darcy tilted her head back as best she could against the brick wall; Steve eventually cupped the side of her neck, helping her tilt the right way so he could get a proper taste of her. Christ, she was better than he remembered, even with the faint salty taste from her tears. His thumb brushed up and down her jaw line.

Tentatively, he licked his way in, slowly so as not to scare her, but she lifted her arms against his, hands cupping his elbows where he held her, welcoming the embrace. Maybe, during their last kiss, Steve had lower inhibitions, but now when he was sober and aware, he was much more intent. Every move, no matter how small, she could feel him being careful with her and cherishing the moment—

She squeaked against his mouth. Steve pulled back sharply, blushing all the way to his ears, and Darcy waved her arms frantically as if her spazzing would put more distance between them (which it did—Steve stepped back a few feet).  

“Stop that!” She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “Stop doing that! You do that and it makes my knees all jelly and I _shouldn’t be doing that!_ ”

Her voice was downright shrill and it threw him off-guard until his conscience finally took control after that libido-mutiny that occurred a minute ago. Steve cursed and turned away, pacing in the alleyway as he scratched his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, I’m _sorry—_ “

“I’d believe you if you cut it out!” she interrupted him, but at least she finally stopped scrubbing her fingers over her lips--as if his mouth had been covered in ketchup, or something, before he kissed her.

After a few awkward seconds where they both caught their breath, Steve stopped pacing and Darcy finally looked up at him. She didn't look sad; she looked shaken up though. Nothing was better than they were a few minutes ago.

Steve made the jump into the deep end, though.

"Tell me what you want," he said, voice much more confident than he felt, and the tone caused a slight shift in Darcy but he tried to be as honest as he could with her. "Just tell me, Darce--tell me what you want."

Darcy expelled a sigh that let all the tension out of her shoulders. "I want a break."

... he didn't expect that.

"I want a break from this," she gestured between her and Steve, "from all the superhero stuff, from Clint--yeah, we're taking a break. And you know what? I told him I wasn't going to do anything with anyone else while I was taking a break, and look at what I _did--_ "

Now it was her turn to pace, as she walked into the alley a few feet before turning back. Steve didn't dare say a word though; he didn't know about Clint. This changed a lot. A _lot_. He just wasn't sure if it was in his favour or if he completely screwed up his chances just now. He couldn't help stuffing his fists into his pants pockets, trying to be patient with her, but damn it, he was nervous.

When she turned back to face him, she was wide-eyed and honest. "--but that's what I want. I want a break. I can't take a break from the superhero crap," she gestured wildly in the direction of the Tower, "but I _can_ take a break from boys--sorry, men--"

"I haven't acted very grown-up in all of this, Darce," Steve admitted with a decent amount of shame.

She didn't respond to that.

Steve looked up to watch her bite her bottom lip thoughtfully, and she looked him over in a horribly familiar way. It was the way that appreciated and regretted everything about him at once. It was a last look--like she'd never see him again. Those blue eyes made his heart clench and all he wanted to do was grab her, hold her, not let her go.

"Give me time, Steve," she whispered, voice thick from emotion. "... Please."

It wasn't a request.

Steve didn't move when she started to leave the alley. This was it, then. She'd avoid him unless she was ready. No more lunch chats. No more visiting her in her cubicle. No more jokes in the hallways. No more her.

"I don't know how I'm going to function without you, Darce," Steve admitted so gently she almost missed it.

Darcy took a deep breath and looked skyward as she felt her eyes start to well up. "... I wish I knew that earlier."

And she walked out of the alley, back into the crowd of people, blending seamlessly with the throngs and she thanked them for the anonymity as she choked back tears all the way to her apartment. The crowd made her problems seem small; seem silly; in the grand scheme of things. Her problems were nothing. It was an oddly comforting thought.

 

  
.

.

.

  
_I knew you were trouble when you walked in_   
_So shame on me now_   
_Flew me to places I'd never been_   
_Now I'm lying on the cold hard ground_

.

.

.

.

 

 

__

_**TBC.....** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest the kissing-up-against-the-wall bit was written at the same time as the first chapter. Hell I could have saved a lot of time just posting the first chapter, the kissy chapter, this one, and the last one. But, noooo, I want to kill you all slooooowly and just when you think you're healing, I update. :-P
> 
> Also, the next chapter gets worse. Like, little kids and feelings worse. You're all warned now. Most of that travesty was also pre-written, so hopefully it'll be up within ... oh god, I don't want to make promises I can't keep. No idea. t.t sorries!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Anyways. I hope you enjoyed. Sorry to the Clint shippers. Love you all!
> 
> **Song lyrics are (obviously) Taylor Swift's "I Knew You Were Trouble."


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